Trouble at the top

I don’t like confrontation. But I can’t stand the situation any longer.

“Hello, I live at flat 46 just above.”

Suspicious look. Suspicious raise of eyebrows. Suspicious sort of grunt in return.

“Yes, well, I was just wondering...about your dog...”

Cold silence, but now the door opens fully.

“Yeah? What about my dog?”

I really, really don’t like confrontation.

“Well, well I was just wondering if...well, it barks quite a lot....”

Voice trails off.

“It’s a dog. What’s it going to do? Sing Lily bloody Allen?”

A hint of aggression, there. He knows what I mean. Why did I have to come down anyway? I always seem to provoke people, even if it’s by mistake.

“Yeah, but the thing is, it barks A LOT and I work at home during the day and...”

“So what? Get a f****** job.”

What? This bloke’s a moron, as well as big. A big moron.

“No, I’ve got a job. I just said I work from home, except I can’t work that well because your dog is barking all day.”

“And? Do you want me to gag it? We’re not even here during the day. We go to work.”

That’s it. I’ve snapped. Goodbye, Mr. Nice Guy. Hello Mr. Nice Guy - But Don't Push Me. What is it with people these days? The more wrong they are, the more aggressively stupid they are. Oh well, may as well be beaten senseless for a sheep as a lamb.

“To be honest, your dog barks most of the night as well and it’s disturbing us. So yeah, gag it or even better, get rid of it.”

“F*** off you prat.”

Like that, is it? Well, you’ve asked for it. Off come the metaphorical gloves. I prepare to step into the metaphorical gutter. Out comes the metaphorical Stanley knife.

“I think the lease specifically states that pets aren’t allowed in the flats.”

Gotcha! Oh dear. The door opens wide again and he takes a step forward.

“Yeah? Well what about you and your f****** wooden floors? I know you have - I saw them go in when the last people were there. Does the lease say you can have wooden floors in a flat? Don’t think so. So go on – jog on."

I can’t believe this. He just told me to jog on. He’s wearing a track suit and he’s over 50. He probably models himself on Tony Soprano. An Essex Tony Soprano. Well, he’s just a big bully and the only way to deal with big bullies is to speak to the Chairman of the management committee.

“I’m not sure if they’re allowed or not but I’ll tell you what. Wooden floors don’t bark their bloody heads off at midnight every night of the week, do they? They might squeak once in a while, but so does a gerbil and that’s hardly comparable to a dog is it?”

“Who is it, Tony?”

He’s actually called Tony.

“Some busybody from upstairs. He’s complaining about the dog.”

Me a busybody? I’m only 37. I’m not a busybody, making a note of tenants who throw cardboard in the recycling bins or complaining about poor quality daffodils in the communal garden. I’m just a normal person politely asking a neighbour to try and keep his dog from barking ALL THE BLOODY TIME. I hate this. My anger has subsided and my courage has deserted me. I’ve started trembling and people like this can smell weakness. She stalks up from behind Tony and launches her index finger in the direction of my left eye.

“You what? Have you got naffing bladdy better to do than stick your bladdy nose into avver peepul’s business? Nobody else has complained have they? What’s your problem, eh? Got naffing be’er to do you little sh**?Mind your own bladdy business or you’ll get a slairp.”

She’s like a sour old barmaid with her died dirty straw coloured hair and cheap gold. Have you been auditioning for a role in Eastenders? I nearly ask her, I really do. Well, no Christmas card for you this year sweetheart. You didn’t even send us one back last year anyway. Time for diplomacy.

“Look, I don’t want to fall out with you. I just wanted to ask if you can keep your dog’s barking down somehow, that’s all.”

Hey – we’re neighbours. The least we can do is get...

“Piss off.”

The door slams. I stare at it in disbelief. This went just the way I feared, yet somehow knew was inevitable. Right then. I go back up to my flat and go inside - without taking my shoes off. I hear that damn dog barking, barking, barking, but you know what? I’ve got a pair of Sony DJ headphones with extra long cord. I plug them in to the TV, settle back and hey presto. I can hardly hear it. Round one to flat 46, I think.