My street is lovely. (Busy but lovely.) And is relatively quiet for the amount of people who live here.
We have drinks at Christmas, look after each others pets and enjoy the occasional glass of wine over the balcony.
We say hello to each other on the driveway, comment on the weather… that sorta thing.
Our peace has been destroyed by all night partying bogans that have moved into the block behind us.
And they party like its 1999 – all night long. All weekend long. Even on a Tuesday night.
There is no prediction when the bogan party will begin. But it all starts the same way.
It starts with the techno. (Doof Doof Doof.) Then one bogan turns into three or four (or more). Voices project, the music goes up.
They do not like to have their bogan conversations INSIDE. They like to have them OUTSIDE, so their stories can waft into the bedrooms of everyone in my apartment block, whilst they throw ciggies off the balcony and sink VB.
“Like. We are family right. It’s all we got. Right. Like. Yeah.”
The later the night goes on, or the earlier in the morning it is, the conversations get waaaayyy less enlightening until just one bogan is left alone on the wall with 99 bottles of beer and the doof doof music.
Did I mention they can’t listen to a whole track? No sir.
Only 20 seconds or so of one delightful track, before the joy of another one starts.
Last night, I was quite drunk (nothing quite like finishing a four week detox with four bottles of wine).
I got home (from lunch) at 11pm.
Delighted that my Sunday would not be a write off, I swiftly washed off my make up, sculled water and lay in bed with the cat.
I was dosing off to sleep and thinking just how pleased I was of myself for pulling the pin then….
BAAAM…..Doof Doof… on goes the music.
Then the deep and meaningful conversations start, ending at FIVE AM when the non resident bogans left.
By this time, the cat had heard the commotion, and decided that her day had begun and started her morning howling session – just when I was getting to sleep.
What do I do now?
I ran through the below options in my head at 4am today.
Go over in my undies and yell at them to shut up?
Call the cops? (My neighbor with a newborn did this last night and they did not come!)
Send The Ginger Hunk over in his military uniform (or undies) to scare the shit out of them?
Write to their strata company?
Write to them?
Ring up all the real estate agents in my area and find out who the faak placed these bogans in my hood?
Photo credit from Things Bogans Like.