We have new neighbours and, bless them, they drunkenly thought that the whole neighbourhood would appreciate being awoken at 01:05 a.m. Friday night by a cacophony of deafening and blinding industrial-strength fireworks – the sort that you ought to set off at the end of a vast meadow enclosed by a moat and sandbags, with skull-and-crossbones warning signs aplenty, and everybody safely indoors. With their head in a paper bag.
One can only presume that by setting them off directly underneath the trees that delightfully line the river we are so lucky to overlook that they were also hoping for the bonus of a limited but lively forest fire. An unintended (or was it?) consequence was the near-conflagration of the balconies, living room and Lhasa Apso of the unfortunate householders even more directly in the firing line. Although spared a visit to the burns unit, the traumatised dog has spent the last 36 hours cowering and whimpering at anything louder than the sound of a moth caressed by a feather.
As they are English — and thoroughly stupid, I should add — I have no doubt that they had not the slightest inkling that they were greeting the Fourth of July in a traditional, if unusually antisocial, manner. It was coincidental, and they just felt like launching £90/$150 worth of fireworks in the space of three noisy minutes for shits, giggles and pissing-everybody-offs. In that last regard: job well done.
It dawned on me the following day, though, after what I interpreted as one or two old-fashioned looks and baleful glances in the street (‘stink-eye’, I think it could reasonably be called), that the finger of blame might easily be pointed at the 50 per cent of our household who, I am glad to say, is American.
It turns out, though, that the guilty party was readily identified, and that the fellow shooting such dark looks while he washed his BMW probably just doesn’t like me. It’ll be that incident with the chewing gum, some blunt hair clippers and his cat, I’ll be bound. But, honestly, I’m blameless there, too.
This all merely serves, of course, as a long-winded introduction to my belatedly wishing all American readers a very happy Fourth of July. ‘Down with the British’ and so forth. ‘No taxation without representation’. Quite right. Although the Pulitzer prize-winning New Yorker cartoonist J. B. Handelsman was even more shrewd:
Sorry to hear the riff-raff were causing trouble with fireworks. Were they the tracksuit wearing Eastern European types you all call ‘The Chavs’? lol
Happy 4th
Not European but our very own home-grown Chavs. And probably something seriously worse that that, I am afraid to say, if the knock-down drag-out fight that ensued highly audibly for the following three hours is any guide.
Happy Fourth to yourself. And Fifth, too – the ‘Boxing Day’ of American Independence.
I’m willing to be cold, hard cash (OK, Monopoly money) that your early morning pyrotechnicians thought they’d get away with it by letting off the fireworks near your house, what with its 50% American population and all. Glad they were found, and hoping a fitting US-style lynching/burning is in store. Especially for the damage done to that Lhasa Apso. Those puppy-dog eyes could be used as evidence of the most damning kind.
I hate people who make noise when I’m trying to sleep.
People have been letting off their leftover crackers all day, and every time it surprises us and traumatizes the dogs!
PS – G, can you email me? I want to show you the award I’ve been working on.
@ Soda and Candy: is your e-mail address on your website? I can’t immediately see it. Thanks.
yeah it’s in the original drafts badge at top right of the page.
sorry – I thought you WordPress folk could access our commenting email addresses.
: )