Nanna Noever

Being in the UK may well be turning me in to a nanna. Or maybe it's just the Italians next door. In traditional British style, my flat shares a wall with the Italians and I'm the lucky person whose room is against that wall. I don't know much about my neighbours except that they have an eclectic taste in music and like to play the worst of it very loud late on weeknights. Before I bought the earplugs, I would fantasise about buying hair curlers, a terrycloth robe and matching slippers and a large broom so I could slam it against the wall and yelling stuff like, "Keep it down will you? Some of us have to work in the morning!" When that failed to work, I would shuffle over in my slippers and hammer on their door. I think this is a far more reasonable goal than skanking myself up and going over and fluttering my eyelashes and getting them to stop that way.

But I haven't. Instead I pop in my earplugs and fall into a paranoid slumber, worried that I won't hear my alarm go off in the morning...