MIGUELS IN THE MIST

Reeling from the shock and awe of my neighbour's childrens' party which came to an abrupt halt at four o'clock in the morning last Sunday when I threatened them with the proper authorities and maybe a pot plant or two I have only just recovered and am once again wondering if I can continue to live in a country where if you ask someone to turn their music down you are told you are a son of a bitch who doesn't like children for how dare I try to sleep at a reasonable hour while adults decide to use their offspring's birthday as an excuse to get pissed and have a fight and generally be as anti-social as possible. I'm beginning to think living in Peckham might guarantee a good night's sleep. The drama didn't stop there as all week I have been threatened by this familia and have had all sorts of insults hurled my way including one that suggested if I rang the police to complain about the noise they would ring the police and tell them my partner was a wife beater.

It's the sort of thing that might turn you into the sort of person who decides 'that's it, I will not talk to the staff and I shall become a complete fascist and snob and just hate everyone because they are all thick and anti-social and that's how it is'. I wonder if there are chavs and gentuza in Newfoundland. I guess there would be.

So, very upset, frazzled and realising why the Spanish don't complain or if they do it is to the sky I think another plan is needed and quickly. I was thinking of going to the police but past efforts to get them to do something about the potential ASBO aspirants around here have been met with laughter. I can see why some folk pick up arms. Maybe grenades?

I am still dreading the community meeting but have promised myself to sit back and watch it like I am making an anthropological study. The carnival also beckons and plan B is to get the hell outta here to a small village in the mountains and hope I get snowed in.

Massive improvements from Classes 3A and B apart from one Laura who took it upon herself to write 'English is shit' on the blackboard at the end of the lesson. I wouldn't mind but she wrote it in Spanish. I watched her run away to the safety of the canteen where I slowly pursued her and took her back pointing out along the way that I didn't care what the other teachers were prepared to put up with but she had to learn that I wasn't going to put up with her shit. I doubt if the message will last although she begged me not to tell anyone else especially her mum.

Finally, as I am about to go out for a drink even though it is before midnight, I hope to see the exhibition on the Lincoln Brigade tomorrow so there is something to look forward to and take my mind off the soul destroying antics of those nearby.