The barbecue at the back seems to have died down after twelve hours, and now it's Portugal next door taking over from Colombia at the back.
He's kicked off again. Drunk and abusive and loud and violent. If I can be sure he's hitting her and not just slamming doors, breaking furniture, and throwing things, I'll call the police.
Mind you, I think she can look after herself. She was the first woman gunner in the Portuguese army.
And it makes a change from the horrendous caterwauling he does whilst accompanying himself on three chord guitar or synth played with all the skill of a Grade 3 pianist. He's a professional musician, apparently. Although another neighbour informed me they're both taking courses at the moment.
"Oh, is he learning to sing?" I enquired sweetly. My other neighbour couldn't move for laughing.
It's never a dull moment round here, I can tell you...
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