It's Only Fitting.

It would only be appropriate to start off my blogging for 2009 with a whinging post, don't you think? It's been a fair while since I sat down and banged out a rant which is a shame, as they usually make me laugh reading back on them at a later date.

(For those who've been around for a while, think back to the wedding-song-stealing post or the slow-walking-newspaper-man post. Good times.)

I've lived in our flat ever since I moved to London - so over 12 months now. It's absolutely become home, despite the ever unreliable transport links and the fact that I live in the complete opposite direction of every single one of my friends over here and I've never had cause to complain about it. (Much.) We live in a complex with about forty other flats, and it's split up really well into little compartments for a little extra privacy. In the ground floor corridor where we are, there are only two other apartments.

In the entire time I've been here, I've seen the first flat's occupants a grand total of once. The lady is either hardly ever home, or just really, really quiet. It's the perfect neighbour! The other flat used to be rented out by a young Chinese couple who lived with their mother - they also kept to themselves, but were friendly enough when we saw them. Sadly, they moved out a couple of months ago, and we've had an empty room across from us since then.

Until recently ...

Yes, I have a neighbour rant.

One night last weekend, there was a knock on the door in the late evening. Being in my pyjamas, like any respectable holiday-maker would be, I forced J to get it. It was a couple of young guys, saying hello and that they had moved in across the hallway. They had a couple of internet set-up questions, so J helped out as much as he could and welcomed them to the building. Half an hour later they were back, asking for the address that they lived in. (Do you not have tenancy papers? How did you find the place the first time?) This first night, there were two guys and a girl that had moved in.

Fast forward to the next day, when I headed out to go shopping in the morning. There was a sickly cigarette smell in the hallway, so strong that my coat picked up the scent after walking through it for all of five seconds. It was gone once I got to the main foyer of the building, and was only in our hallway. I forced J to go outside and sniff the air too, just to prove it wasn't me going mad - so looks like our new inhabitants are breaking the 'No smoking indoors' rule. Needless to say, I am not impressed.

They're really, really noisy. It doesn't help that when they're home, they leave their flat door propped open - why do you think that is? - but even on the odd occasion that it's closed, I can still hear them. Through two huge wooden doors. Three, if I close the bedroom door too. That's a lot of wood, right there.

They also appear to be multiplying in numbers. As I speak, there are about five guys hanging around & I saw two girls moving bags in this afternoon. The flat itself is either a one-bedroom one like mine, or it's a two-bedroom at most, but regardless, that's a lot of people. I'm puzzled.

The last straw for me was on Sunday in the wee hours of the morning, when I was awoken at 3:30 in the morning by dance music & shouting voices. I got up to see what was going on, and sure enough, there were at least ten people having a jolly old time right outside our flat. J actually opened the door and had a bit of a go at them, but I feel like this is only the beginning.

(If I'm woken up again or if the cigarette smell gets worse, I'm going to become that very grouchy old cat lady who lodges formal complaints.)

My parting words to them, should they ever randomly stumble across this blog and put two and two together? You have a perfectly good apartment right there, so get out of the fucking hallway and close your fucking door!

I feel much better now.

Please tell me I'm not the only one with horrible neighbours - what sort of stunts have you had to put up with, and how did you deal with it?