We moved into a new home the week before Christmas, and already the teething problems has turned into some sort of cranial-facial disorder that requires immediate surgery. We've had to:
- get a chap in to fix our rangehood fan that is either broken/not inserted correctly (but which, thankfully, is under warranty)
- get both the Telstra technician and some electricians in to fix the phone points, which were patched to the outside of the property, but not the inside (and surprise, surprise, the Telstra guy fluffed around for over an hour and left without even fixing the problem, whilst the electricians had the job done in two minutes flat)
- wrestle with loads of scary chemicals to clean off the graffiti that was sprayed on our property 4 days after we moved in (thanks for the housewarming present, you pathetic layabouts with nothing else to do)
- yak yak yak back and forth between the real estate agent and the owner/builders over a myriad of little things that we needed to get fixed/find codes for/organise workman details etc etc.
But the real fun begins of a evening when the pubs close and our friendly party-loving neighbours come home. Due to the middle of the night reconnaissance work by myself and the Galumph (ok, so we peered out the window) we have figured out that one of the backyards that faces our bedroom window is home to some merry folks who like nothing than to come home most nights of the week, tanked to the gills and ready for a midnight until three backyard chat. The main culprits are a girl who seems to be possessed of a wide social circle, all of whom apparently befall nasty traumas on a weekly basis, and her male flatmate who finds everything hilarious after the midnight hour.
It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have a laugh like a malfunctioning machine gun that can only operate on 180 decibels, but alas, he does. So there they sit, and have conversations in the dark that go something like this:
Tragic Girl: So last week my aunty had a massive seizure as she was coming down the stairs, and has broken her pelvis AND split her head open.
Machine Laugh Guy: Nak-nak-nak-nak!
TG: And so when my uncle was driving her to the hospital, he accidently ran into the back of a truck carrying chickens, all of whom have now met their maker instead of being transferred to a free range farm. There were feathers everywhere, poor things.
TG: This sent my aunt into another seizure, which made my uncle have a panic attack, so she's like totally bleeding and thrashing about, and all he can do is scream that he needs a paper bag.
TG: The chicken driver called them an ambulance, but it took over an hour to get through because of all the chicken carcasses and banked up traffic.
TG: And when they finally got to the hospital she had to be operated on by a junior surgeon, because the main surgeon had gotten himself hit on the head during a caber tossing tournament, and is expected to be in a coma for the next few months.
TG: The hospital insisted on keeping my uncle in for a few days, because he'd like totally gone into the shock and stuff, so when he finally got home he found out that both the cat and the hamster had died, because nobody had fed them.
MLG: Nak-nak-nak-nak! NAK-NAKKITY-NAK!
So there lie the Galumph and I, cursing both our feeble windows and the never ending stories emanating from our annoying neighbours. I shove my head under the pillows, dreaming up evil ways of disabling their midnight chats. So far all I have come up with is throwing water balloon at them; feeding them chocolates made out of laxatives, so they will be indisposed and hopefully in bed during the dark; and bellowing out the window "SHUT THE CUSS UP SAD STORY GIRL AND MAN WITH IRRITATING LAUGH!"
As you can probably tell, I'm not so hot at coming up with ideas or insults during the middle of the night. I need sleep, nagdammit!
The Galumph, however, is made of more pragmatic stuff. He has spent the last few days researching double glazing options and prices. So far we've been quoted minimum $600 per window (although some quotes are as high as ($900). I've just done a quick count, and we have 11 windows on the top level alone.
I must log off now. There's some weeping to be done.