The Polka-trance Fandango
The new neighbours are drunk, outside, and playing what I swear sounds like polka-trance. There are beats, you know, of the trance variety - that much I can definitely identify. I understand beats, I suppose, though it’s not something I look for in my 1am listening. Even less so, the accordion.
Yes, the accordion. Harbinger of sea-shanties, polka dances and apparently drunken Polish trance music. Why they’re even legal I have no idea. As America has gun laws, so should Britain have accordion laws. Carrying an unlicensed accordion? 5 years in the big house. Concealed accordion? 15 years. Mercilessly and without provocation playing a sea-shanty in a public place? I, for one, would advocate that we bring back hanging, or at the very least sterilise the perpetrators lest they adversely influence the young and weak-willed.
Occasionally they shout things, these drunken neighbours. Mostly it’s “Welcome to our world!”. I don’t really understand the attraction of this world apparently filled with polka-trance is. I wonder what colour the sky is on this world of theirs, and who there Prime Minister is, and whether they have ice-cream.
I’d go out and argue with them (shut up I would), but my other neighbour is doing that right now. I like my other neighbour. He wears a bathrobe during the day, and I think I once saw him smoking a fancy cigarette.
You have to respect that in a man.
He’s doing okay out there, I think, presenting the rational line of argument that you present in these situations. Unfortunately, like most people who present this kind of rational argument in this kind of situation, he’s making the assumption that his opponents are rational. They are not. One (and I’m assuming it’s a woman) just flashed her breasts at him. He took it as calmly as a man in a bathrobe would be expected to.
I wonder if he has two bathrobes. You know, one for the day and one for at night. And maybe one for special occasions - for when he has company around or just wants to feel special.
He’s being drowned out now though, and, yes, he’s retreating inside. They’d started singing what I assume is the Polish national anthem in protest, you see, and what bathrobed gentleman can be expected to endure that. The beats and accordion have stopped, at least.
I wonder if I should get a bathrobe.
Oh, wait, I spoke too soon. There it is again, the accordion. And the beats. But mostly the accordion.
Hanging’s too good for them.
