Living Next Door to the ‘Junglist Massive’

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Yo ! Yo! …Word up!   Booyaka!

In our suburban dwelling in the ‘lovely part of Hemel Hempstead’ we are a far cry from the hustle and bustle of city life…..or are we?

Since moving to our new home, we have tolerated the weekend antics of our neighbour- the 38 year old -‘coke head’ with a mis-spent youth, and sufficient time spent doing ‘bird’.

Of course we have never had a conversation with him, but due to his uncouth and ‘less than dulcet’ tones that resonate at 100 decibels down the street, we know about his time inside, how he’s been sacked from every job he’s had, how his girlfriend likes it in the bedroom (and believe me we’ve heard her fulfil  those fantasies) and the details of his bank account….pin number etc.

We live next door to a moron of the highest calibrations, who has shared much more of his life with us than our tiny minds can comprehend. A truly annoying oik that speaks at one volume and has no respect for himself , let alone the people he lives alongside.

If that wasn’t enough… we are treated to (on a weekly basis) a ‘full -on’ club night, whereby he sets up his decks, opens his windows, grabs his vuvuzela and continues to DJ to his crowd of ….nobody….(except maybe a few hedgehogs and stray cats that happen to be nearby) until the early hours.

Now David Guetta he is not…in fact he’s more of a fatboy slim (without the slim) and his girlfriend rocks up in her “Fat Bird’s uniform” (leggings and a mid-drift top), and they party until the break of dawn (I think her name is Kelly, not Dawn).

Now please don’t get me wrong, I do love a bit of a boogie when the mood takes me, but please let me watch the Strictly final before you inflict ‘old school Jungle’ on the entire neighbourhood. And do we really need a commentary in between tunes?…you don’t have an audience you idiot….and you are 38…get a life!

Last night was the straw that broke the camel’s back….apart from a very small interlude when he played ‘Here comes the Hotstepper’ and ‘Lady, hear me tonight’, which I quite enjoyed, the music went on from 8.30pm until 5 am this morning at full volume and with the bass vibrating through our bedroom walls, I needed to do something.

I googled online, on how to make a complaint to my local council and rest assured, after I have completed my ‘noise diary’ he will be receiving an abatement notice….but as revenge is a dish best served cold I thought I would give him a taste of his own medicine.

So here I am this Sunday morning, windows wide open, stereo on full pelt…..but not giving him a selection of classics from his favoured genre…oh no…we have a medley of Steps, S Club 7, and the best of the musicals from Calamity Jane to Les Miserables.

Enjoy your ‘come-down’ you big twat…..Happy Sunday!

The Devil wears….leggings

I don’t, nor have ever proclaimed to be a style advisor to women or ‘queer eye for the straight guy’ but I have got to get one thing really clear so that we can spread the word and eliminate a large amount of humiliation and low self esteem in the world..

‘Leggings are not clothes!’

There you have it ladies. When you don a pair of leggings, essentially you are leaving the house with your knickers on (only they are knickers that happen to have 2 legs attached).

If you are going to wear these awful lycra- based ‘skin huggers’ because they are ‘so comfortable’ , then please spare us the accompanying mid-drift top and wear something loose that reaches your knees. (Especially if you have the physique of a fruit machine and the arse the size of Belgium).

I wonder whether you ever notice that at the top of your legs there is a part of your anatomy that is not conducive with skin-tight fabric , with it’s many folds and flaps, leggings make it look like you are smuggling oreos. Equally the stretched thread-bare fabric ‘covering’ your posterior points out every dimple and imperfection, often making it look like a scene from Buzz Aldrin’s cine camera of the Moon landings.

‘But they are so cheap’ , I hear you say.  Well yes they are, thats because they are shit, you wouldn’t see me walking up the shops in my thermal long -johns- I’d probably be arrested.

Nobody wants to see your clam when they are fetching the daily newspaper, no matter how agile and inviting it may be, so please stop this appalling practice now. Throw the leggings away and buy some clothes.

Spread the word…..