Quietly psychopathic

Dear neighbours.

Hello!

Apologies for the English note – Im sure there are English-Ukranian translation engines online if you look hard enough. Oh dear. You probably didnt get that, did you – what with me saying it in English and everything. Lets try the old British trick when talking to someone foriegn: Cant speak their language? Just say it in English, but Slower, and LOUDER, which apparently boils down to being pretty much the same thing.

TURN. IT. DOWN.

THE. M-U-S-I-C.

ESPECIALLY THE STRANGLERS.

SERIOUSLY.

I understand that the Ukranian Death Metal seems to aid the smoking process, and believe me when I tell you that I appreciate the fact that you only listen to it loud for those nicotine-powered 4 minutes, opening the patio doors, cranking the amplifiers up to eleven and rocking out to that screaming noise before stubbing the fag out – possibly on your face, who knows – closing the patio doors and tuning the music off.

What I dont get is the Golden Brown fixation. I understand you like the song. I understand it may mean a lot to you. But why do you always have to listen to it FOUR TIMES IN A ROW?

Usually at the weekend (though who knows, maybe every week day has its Golden Brown half hour too. I wouldnt know. Im at work, you studentty twunts) there will be the swish of the patio door, and suddenly, a familiar riff.

I used to like Golden Brown. Now it makes me want to break windows.

Im not a difficult woman, or not much. Im not picky, particularly – Im a nice neighbour: quiet, happy, dont play early eighties drug anthems at 7640 decibels on repeat for yucks – but really, seriously, if youre going to do the whole four-times over thing once a day, could you At LEAST vary the song?

Because theres something too powerfully subliminally suggestive about the name of the band: and frankly, I think it would stand up in court as a murder defence.

Thanks.
Sorry: dosvidanya. Or something. Please stop or Ill kick you in the knees.

love and kisses
anna

Golden Brown, texture like sun. Brings me down, something munch to run. Something doo, too fucking loud, something else, just like the last.

ARG.