Post 467 - I Scream Van

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK.

That's my least favourite sound in the world at the moment. Remember this time last year when I was extolling the virtues of my plush new pad in "Aberdeen South", and in particular praising the peace and quiet that comes with not living in the same street as hundreds of nesting seagulls?

Post 462 - Living Conditions

Well sadly my new-found peace has been shattered with the emergence of a new foe. Not of the feathered variety this time, but the good old, two-arm, two-leg, meat-and-two-veg male member of the homo sapien race. (That's a bloke for those of you who don't speak asshole. I'm fluent).

Do me a favour, would you? Think back to your childhood. In fact, we'll all do it together. Ready.... 1,2,3.... right. It's 1986. We're standing in the front garden of a large house in a tiny village, on a lovely hot summer's day. There's not a cloud in the sky, there's no traffic on the nearby road, somewhere in the distance, a brook is babbling. We're throwing a frisbee around, kicking a football, whatever, just doing what kids do (well, kids from the 80s, not kids from nowadays who'd probably be jacking up while happy-slapping some old ladies and recording in on their stolen phones). Did I mention that it's a hot day? Well it's a hot day anyway. Suddenly you hear a sound that catches our attention. Drifting gently through the warm summer air, you hear the plinky plonky sound of chimes, which can only mean one thing - ice cream van. We rush out into the street and run down the pavement, across the road (taking care to look both ways first, naturally) and the friendly old chap in the ice-cream van furnishes us with as much 99s, wafers, sliders, Lemonade Sparkles and Funny Feet as we can eat, all the while the van chimes out a delightful rendition of "Pop Goes The Weasel". The ice-cream van is a happy sound. It brings memories rushing back; of hot summers that seemed to go on forever; of riding bikes out into the countryside to go fishing for tadpoles; of daisy chains, dandelion clocks, dock leaves and all that other pish you expect to see when you grew up in a tiny village like I did.

At least that's what you would think unless you lived where I live now, where the ice cream man has done away with the traditional chimes and replaced them with A FUCKING AIR HORN. Probably the most obnoxious, annoying sound in the world. Not only does the break in tradition annoy me, something from my childhood that's seemingly been swept aside, what gets me most is that the cunt parks outside my fucking house EVERY. BASTARD. HOUR. and blows the air horn for a good 30 seconds.

This is acceptable if:
A) I'm not at home.
B) That's it. There's no other time when it's acceptable.

It is not acceptable if:
A) I'm trying to watch TV and can't hear it for his fucking air horn.
B) I'm asleep in my bedroom upstairs, right above where he parks, and I get woken up by his fucking air horn.
C) I'm trying to relax outside, and the peace is shattered by his fucking air horn.
D) etc etc etc...

The noisy bastard that he is. It's not just occasionally during the summer either. It's every hour, every day, every week, every month of the year, snow, wind, sleet, hail, rain of frogs, whatever. Credit where it's due, the man makes a fucking good ice-cream, but seriously dude, the horn? Unnecessary.

I got "99" problems....

Song currently stuck in my head - "Where It's At" by Beck.
ireallyhatelucky@googlemail.com