Over The Fence. Kumbaya!

So I am living in a very nice little apartment in a very nice part of Sydney. I am lucky enough to have a balcony, upon which a tree that I have not yet* killed is living in a pot, and I have a courtyard off my bedroom, in which numerous plant-creatures flourish**.

It is a quiet block of four. Both the upstairs neighbours are single people in their... I don't know. A bit older than me? My downstairs neighbours are a Rabbi and his wife. They are charming people. Everyone in the block is quiet (except for my kids, but there are only so many hours of the day one can put duct tape across their mouths).

It is a quiet suburban street so there is no traffic noise. Sometimes the only sound I can hear is my own breathing, the washing machine whirring, the dishwashing dishing, the cat purring, the printer printing, my fingers typing... Okay, so there are lots of sounds but none of them are offensive.

But then there are the Back Neighbours. The Back Neighbours live in a house behind my apartment. They seem to be lovely people. They don't pillage, or rape, or burn effigies, or throw water balloons at my property. But they drum. They drum ALL THE TIME.

Now, they don't drum like rock stars. I mean, that would be bad, but it would be Call-The-Police bad and it would be over and done with in an hour. Nor do they drum on those electronic drum kits that can be plugged into headphones and NOT HEARD. Because that would be awesome. (And also? Best. Invention. Ever.)

No. They drum like hippies. Because they are hippies. Yes. I am living a soap opera. A soap opera called My Neighbours Are Hippies!

He Looks Like My Neighbour!

My neighbours live in a commune of sorts. They light bonfires at night and sit around it holding hands. Yes, people really do that! They string laundry from trees, and wear clothes made from hemp and hessian sacks (from what I can see over the fence). They play bongo drums in harmony until the wee small hours, several of them, gathered around the fire. They even have two large tents pitched in the overgrown back yard, from which people emerge, sleepily dishevelled, when I am getting the kids ready for school.

I am hoping they use the toilets inside the house. I don't know.

My neighbours are hippies, and they play the bongos. And I could call the police, but they would just charm them with their herbally shmerbally ways, and my neighbours and the police would end up holding hands and singing Kumbaya together whilst roasting marshmallows. So no point really.

But if anyone has a very loud acoustic guitar, or perhaps a karaoke machine, or even a dude who does a good impersonation of Meatloaf who could hang out on my balcony for a few hours every night and give my neighbours a run for their money, I'd appreciate it if you gave me a call.

*I will. Trust me. Time.
**I do not know the difference between the various plant-creatures. Some may actually be weeds. But the overall impression is green.