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A few weeks ago I rang the letting agent and asked him to inform the tenants upstairs politely that I could hear ‘everything’. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘Eeeeverything,’ I said again, with obscene emphasis. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. And he promised to write them an email informing them that discretion, or a carpet, or a set of dampeners under the strings, sorry, legs of the bed might be a good course of action.
For a week the amorous overture subsided a little. Then, like a thunderous fourth movement reasserting the main theme, it began again ‘allegro con brio’. Now I know what you’re thinking. Aren’t floorboards illegal in an upstairs flat? You would think so. But, astonishingly, they are not illegal so long as you have another set of floorboards beneath them. This is supposed to insulate the sound. Whatever idiot invented this rule should be shot. It does not insulate the sound. It magnifies it. It allows the sound to echo around inside the floor, building up a full range of harmonics which pierce your head with savage force. I banged on the ceiling with a broom and shouted. They launched into ‘Ode to Joy’.
So I rang the council. The man on the other end at Lambeth’s Night Noise Service — all capped up so it must be effective — was very polite, but ultimately not hopeful. When I explained what was happening he said this was ‘normal human activity’. I argued that it may be normal (although I have my doubts) but when it happens between the hours of 4 a.m. and 6 a.m. it has extremely abnormal results. I haven’t slept properly in weeks. All the same, he said, it would be easier if they were having a party. Would it help, I asked, if I could persuade them to invite some friends round for a drink while they are at it? He took my details and promised someone would write to me with a plan of action, and sure enough a few days later I got a very serious-looking letter.
Someone called Cloretta is now handling my case. She says my complaint about ‘alleged noise nuisance’ is being considered under the Environmental Protection Act 1990 — Section 80. If ‘an incident’ occurs again I am to call…the Night Noise Service. Of course I am. And he will then refer my case to her, and she will write to me referring me back to him. I get it. The whole thing forms a perfect circle of bureaucratic inaction which never ends.
To make my battle even more infuriating, soul destroying and pointless, the Night Noise Service has utterly nonsensical hours of opening. It is operational Sunday to Thursday between the hours of 10 p.m. and 3 a.m. and 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. Friday and Saturday nights. This means you can only get help if the people making your life hell have the good grace to make noise during council-approved hours. I cannot get help of any kind — even a sympathetic voice telling me there’s nothing they can do — if the Balham Philharmonic get jiggy-jiggy after 3 a.m. on weekdays. Which they usually do.
Anyway, last night there was an interesting development. After the two-hour 4 till 6 performance, he got up and left. I nudged my partner awake. ‘He’s gone!’ I said excitedly. ‘What?’ ‘He’s gone. Walked out! The door just slammed. He’s never done that before. Do you suppose…? Maybe they’ve had an argument. Maybe they’re going to break up. Maybe…’ My mind is awhirl with possibilities. I am probably irrational from lack of sleep and bound to be disappointed but just the glimmer of a prospect of my neighbour being plunged into a miserable personal crisis that will leave her insensible and dumbstruck with grief has given me the first real ray of hope in weeks.
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