Golden Memories: Neighbours
When asked what 'Hell' was, Sartre was alleged to reply "other people". This may not be true, and he would no doubt wish to qualify the statement if it was - but the existence of some people would perhaps lend a certain empirical support to the assertion.
Starting at the end like so many stories with synopses, I should mention my current neighbour. He owns a dog which is rarely seen because it gets its exercise in the backyard. Unfortunately, the resultant excrement is never removed and lies around the yard like a minefield. Periodically the surfeit is pushed into the corners using a convenient snow shovel, so that now these resemble a collection of ancient volcanic mountains. Much anger is directed at the dog if a turd occasionally makes its way into the house.
In flats, I have spent blissful hours listening to 120 decibel punk rock, breathing in the nightly fumes created by curry addicts and listening to the endless tattoo of nails being driven into walls by DIY maniacs. Warring couples, melodramatically loud lovers, all night computer game aficionados and drunken sing songs are probably all familiar to the average flat dweller.
Even in middle class suburbia the scenarios can be wild. In my last bourgeois cul-de-sac there was a bipolar woman walking around naked at 2.00am, a number of permanent house extenders with skips, a depressive sneak visibly taking notes about his neighbours' activities and visitors who used my open plan front garden as a car park.
Over to you, Jean-Paul.