Excitingly, the weekly bought of midnight hammering took place again last night, much to everyone’s delight.
Carole was tired and angry this morning and, as she doesn’t live with our neighbours, I got to feel the full brunt of that mood. I didn’t enjoy the hammering either. It pissed me off. The only different is that it’s not waking me up because I’m already awake, and therefore don’t feel the same level of hatred towards it as someone roused from their slumber.
Equally, though, I’m not going to go round to their house at midnight and ask them to stop because they are absolute shitballs and they have hammers.
I am, however, going to leave dead mice on all their garden furniture every time Peppa affords me the opportunity.
Carole’s anger this morning made me want to leave the house for a bit, but I didn’t really have anywhere to go, so I just did noisy things outside at 10am (which is nowhere near early enough but still felt good). I mowed the lawn, loudly. I hammered all the fence panels – which they have kicked off – pack into place. Loudly. Very loudly. And repeatedly. You’ve be amazed how many nails some of those suckers need. They’re probably more metal than wood at this point. But it felt good. And it was a way to vent my frustration at Carole venting her frustration at me.
I also discovered that our Stanley knife is quite possibly the bluntest implement on the face of the planet, as it chewed through a cardboard box like a hot knife though something that hot knives really cannot get through. At all. Ever.
Mondays suck. Those Boom Town Rats had it right.