Time to say goodbye
Posted on 22. Oct, 2009 by Julia in Musings
There are many things I am going to miss about Australia. My neighbours (on the nasty side, as I now think of it) are not among them (for the record, and in case they ever read this, I really like the ones on the nice side – you know who you are).
The feud started when the man of the house got narky because, in the process of moving me into the house, we allowed our car to stray a foot over his driveway. The doors of the car were open. The door to our house was open. A move of some sort was clearly in full swing. “Welcome to the neighbourhood”, he did not say. “Would you like a hand”, he did not say. “Mate” (this he did say) “I’m upset”. Upset? Come on! Australians don’t get upset because something temporarily intrudes on their driveway. They get upset because something is vegetarian. Or alcohol free.
Plus, no-one needs to use chainsaws every day. What are they cutting? They are not building a house. I’ve checked. There’s already one there. They live in it. That’s how they are my neighbours. They are not chopping each other into tiny bits. They make so much noise, there can be no doubt that they are all very much still there. The husband and wife converse in dialogue reminiscent of bad soapies – filled with melodrama and bitterness but no swearing, because heaven forbid the children should hear the F-word. Because that’s what’s going to send them spiralling off into therapy. Every morning, mother screams: “Dennis” (names have been changed to protect the family’s identity) “get off the table!”. To this, Dennis replies “MaaaaaaaaaaaMaaaaaaaaaaMaaaaaaaaaaaMaaaaaaaaaa”. This is his variation on mama and he can sustain it at an alarmingly high pitch for an unpleasantly long time (I think he’s already mastered circular breathing). Why is this woman’s child always on the table? Nobody knows.
Yesterday I awoke at 7am to the sound of them throwing bricks, one by one, into a giant skip directly below my window. For once the family seemed to be enjoying themselves, as they launched their projectiles into the air and watched them land with a jaw clenching crash. I hate them.
The final straw came today, when I sprung from my bed at 5am in a fit of rage. One of the neighbours was directly outside my window, whistling. I live in an attic room. On a third floor. One of my neighbours had climbed a tree just so they could disturb my sleep by whistling outside my window. ”Typical”, I growled, “the bloody neighbours are whistling”. I was furious. Until I realised it was a bird.
I think it’s time to move.
