A bit of a rant, a bit of a rave

I’m not even going to beat around the bush. I’ve got a 3 part rant, but I have a feeling I’ll only get through one this time round. Watch out for the sequels…

Strike 1:  Kids

No day, no hour, no TIME, is sacred to these caterwauling creatures, and for the past two weeks, my ears, my house and my life, have been viciously abused by the un-angelic, un-harmonious and un-heavenly melodies of these pint-sized humans. I’ve got a screamer to the left of me, and screamers (plural) to the right, and here I am, stuck in the middle of it all.

Assailant 1:

One, possibly two-year old child for whom screaming, (and I mean screaming like someone is tearing his limbs off one by one) is his Modus Operandi. He’s the kid from the house on the left. I’ve seen day turn into night, with this kid still trying to speak to God. You look at him and you think ‘ahhh cute’. NO. No, no, no, no, NO. That is pure deception. Sometimes, I feel sorry for his mum, because no matter what she says or does, he keeps screaming. Although I guess it doesn’t help that in her frustration when he won’t be quiet, she yells at him swearing very badly. The woman is mad to be talking to her child like that, but when you see how this boy goes ON, I can empathise with her frustration. He can go on for 3 hours straight. No kidding.  I’m surprised she doesn’t scream at him more. And why is he exercising his lungs like they’re in boot camp? From what I can see, simply because he can’t have his own way. He doesn’t have a temper tantrum and stomp, he simply stands there and screams. Worst of all it’s a really painful kind of scream, so if you didn’t know him better and what he’s like, you’d think that he was really hurt. That’s what I hate the most. Any time, any hour, any day…

There is hardly a day that goes by that he does not express his dissatisfaction with the world the way he thinks it should be.

Assailants 2, 3, 4, 5, etc…(I’ve lost count of how many children there are in that house):

These guys are in the house on the right and annoy me the most. Let me describe a typical day of our friends – 4/5 of them come out to play on their huge trampoline, team leader being the extremely bossy (this girl is a terrorist, and I’ll explain how later) eldest sister who is a maximum of 8 years old. They jump around laughing for about 10 minutes. Then it begins.  An argument, started by the eldest girl, naturally; she starts yelling at one of her siblings, one of the siblings start crying, and she goes into Medusa mode – ‘ I HATE YOU! EVEN THOUGH you’re my BROTHER (or sister), I HATE YOU! LEAVE ME ALONE! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! STOP CRYING! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! WHY ARE YOU MESSING THINGS UP! EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE MY BROTHER. I. HATE. YOU. SHUT UPPPPPPPP!!!! AAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHHH…….!’

*cold as stone stare*

One more time now…’I HATE YOUUUUUU…etc’. You get my drift.

This girl is very serious. I have heard her do that for 20 minutes straight and all I could hear in the background, just one semi-tone above her own harmony, was the brother/sister who had offended this time, howling their own. Yes. That someone-is-killing-me-now scream. That I-am-dying-please-somebody-come-to-my-aid-immediately scream. It’s actually horrific. There have been times when it has gone on for so long, that I have actually had to check myself (being a responsible human being and all) and just pop my head at my window, to check it was their garden-play gone foul, and that no-one is actually trying to kill/abduct them. There is one brother and one sister in particular, that the eldest of this group likes to terrorise. They are always facing this bully’s vociferous wrath. If they don’t do what she tells them…God help them. There’s no salvation to be had. Only verbal rebuke, abuse and damnation.

The thing that gets me about these guys is that no-one, no-one from the house ever intervenes! Not the older brothers or sisters or the adults. And it happens pretty much every day, and at every hour offensive to me. It might be in the morning, when I am trying to fulfil the quota of sleep that I should be having as a young adult, and I am woken up by this satanic alarm. Or maybe in the afternoon, when I am trying to get some kip, or do some work, and this tsunami of noise smashes into my consciousness, and I forget what I was doing, where I am and who I am. Or even better, in the evening, as one is settling down to relax, unwind, ponder on the meaning of life, or alternatively just chill because it’s been a long hard tiring day, I hear an air raid alarm and I’m confused because I thought the war was in Afghanistan and Iraq, not here, and as I crawl to my foolishly left open window for signs of a falling missile, I see these dark shadows jumping about in the dark. ‘Demons!’ I think in a haze of fear, making the sign of the cross. Then the garden light comes on. No. Just the kids.

The fact of the matter is, I am living in a war zone. I barely manage to fight off one enemy, (through silent observance, admirable pacifism considering, and fervent prayer to God to have mercy on my soul and cause the non-heavenly alarms to cease), before the other side seems to instinctively take up the task of destroying me, mind, body, soul and spirit in a pattern that is very Mexican wave. I am swiftly beginning to suspect that they are in communion with each other and my destruction is the goal. Why? I am not Saddam Hussein. What did I do to the world? To them? But they are very clever, because they have worked out a decibel that defies every attempt of our double-glazed windows to silence what must be a form of Chinese torture. Yes! I was astounded to note, that there was literally, LITERALLY no difference to what I could hear when I shut my window.

That’s how I know this plan against me is DEEPLY rooted.

And the thing is…..these are black people. I say that, because if I ever…..let me say it again…If I EVER had behaved like this for more than a few seconds when I was young….. *laughs* I wouldn’t even be here. I’m just saying. Let’s be honest; black people don’t talk to their kids and tell them in a soft and pleading voice ‘be quiet or you’re going on the naughty step’ like in Supernanny, they beat sense into them. So how have these kids escaped the wrath of the rod of discipline their parents and ancestors endured, and been allowed to run amok, proudly screaming out their territories of power, to the detriment of civilised society as a whole? Is this really what modern society has come to??

George Bush didn’t know what he was talking about.

This, is the real War on Terror.

Maybe I’ll drop a pamphlet citing the benefits of smacking children through my neighbours’ doors one day. Anonymously of course. I don’t want to give these kids ammunition if they find it. They probably control their letter boxes *picture vicious, screaming, frothing-at-the-mouth kids, leaping at the door like wild wolves, and tearing pamphlets to shreds with their teeth*. They control the airwaves after all, why not the door?

London Life.


One thought on “A bit of a rant, a bit of a rave

  1. Pingback: A bit of a rant, a bit of a rave: Part 2 « The Commentator: Observations of a Modern Life

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