A week last Saturday my girlfriend and I had a party at our flat. Nothing major, four invited guests. Everyone arrived around 10:30 and the party began, music, merriment and joyous bonhomie took place for two and half hours, we organised my trusty “Nad amplifier” and “Jamo” floor standing speakers next to the laptop. No decks this particular time, just some beats, freaks, and conversation. At around 12:00 there came a knock at the door, the lady living below my flat was on “Full Alert”! Frustrated by the fun we appeared to be having she felt compelled to tell us off. I don’t really have an issue with this, but my overall feeling is, if you can’t have a small gathering of people on a fucking Saturday evening, when is it OK? We discussed the issues at hand (as she saw them of course) “Why didn’t you tell me you were having a party?” (Four People). “My bedroom is almost below your living room, and we had real problems with the last tenants”. It took me all my fortitude not to tell her to go away in that all so familiar turn of phrase beginning with the letter ‘F’. I don’t care about previous tenants or the order in which you have Fung Shui-ed your living quarters, these are both happenings far beyond my control. Her main issue was that we we’re not going to continue all night long (“ALL NIGHT LONG…”). I explained, it was only a small gathering and that we would be no later than 2 am. This information was like Crack to an addict and her mood changed instantly, we agreed the party would soon be coming to an end and she could return to whatever was happening behind her door. At least I didn’t tell her to “Go Fuck Yourself”*.
“Go Fuck Yourself, Go Fuck Yourself, Go Fuck Yourself, Go… You get the idea!”