Just Desserts

On many occasions, I have been woken by the downstairs neighbours talking very loudly. About some inane stuff. I mean really inane stuff. The accoustics of our flats means that there are some fairly sound repelling walls that bounce that little conversation right into my bedroom.

They are a couple. They fight....or talk...sometimes I am unsure of the difference. She has one of those voices that sounds 'put on'. It's nasally and reaches unfathomable heights in pitch, volume and intonation. You keep waiting for her to revert back to her speaking voice, but, amazingly, it IS her speaking voice.

Anyways, one of the mornings, when they were 'talking' in what seemed like a volume-level reserved for nightclubs, I overheard the following conversation:

Him: "Hun, put on some music."
Her: "Ok" (off she skips, to the stereo I assume)
Her: "What do you feel like listening to?"
Him: "I don't mind"

About 30 seconds elapses; then.....

Him: "But not fucking Jack Johnson. I fucking hate Jack Johnson".

A broad smile breaks on the face of Preston as she hears this.

Preston has 3 of Jack Johnson cds.

Preston loves Jack Johnson.

Preston has discovered the neighbours' achilles heel.

MWA-HA-HA-HA

And off Preston skips to play some 'Jack' at a level that can be reasonable enough to....oh let's say.....filter into the downstairs flat?............

Tra-la-la-la-la.