Noisy neighbours are the one thing guaranteed to call me to arms. Our subterranean domestic is partial to turning on both stereos in his kitchen and living room.

Nine hours later and a seemingly endless play-list of blaring hair rock and ignored requests to turn it down and there is the inevitable Mexican stand-off.

He comes out with the usual crap about it not being too loud, he can do what he wants and isn’t on curfew and who do I think I am.

Patience goes out of the window as does any hope of Gandhian non-violence and goodwill. I boulder downstairs like some old elephant turning puse-coloured from enduring nine hours of 80s music.

“Turn your fucking music down, NOW!”

The sergeant major routine seems to work ..until tomorrow

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