Freaks of Nature

I've been resisting the temptation for several weeks to rant about my neighbours. I figured that I was simply unlucky to be living amongst such a bona fide collection of freaks. That the topic, or my experiences, were not universal enough to be the subject of a posting. But having consulted more widely, it appears that I am not alone in suffering neighbour-induced hell. Though I challenge anyone to have quite so many traumatic encounters as I do.

We all live in a house on one of the canals in central Amsterdam. My partner and I are up on top; then there's 2 sets of neighbours on the floor below; and another on the ground floor. Plus several adjacent neighbours with terraces which adjoin ours. All of them are Dutch.

Now, I am a good neighbour. I've never lived in a big, detached house or anything: it's been apartments all the way, with people above, below, and on either side. I've never had any difficulty with any of them. We all paid our bills; kept our place and common areas clean; taken deliveries for each other, you know the kind of thing. Equally, I've never become bosom buddies with a neighbour: it's been more a cordial 'let's look out for - but not stalk - each other' kind of arrangement.

Except in Amsterdam. The neighbours' issues range from exhibitionism, to racism, to inappropriate interference, to out and out psychosis.

Neighbours Number 1: Fists of Fury

29 minutes after we moved into our apartment, we got our first complaint from our downstairs neighbours. The issue? Music. Not loud, raucous music. Not music at an unsociable hour either. This was at around 4.30 on a Saturday afternoon. We were unpacking all our crap from our move from London and so I put on some music to get things moving. You know how it is. Admittedly, the music was probably too loud to carry on a conversation if you were sitting right beside the speakers, but it was certainly nothing socially unacceptable - you could still hear traffic outside and church bells, for example.

'Bang! Bang! Bang!' - fists on the door. I answered it.

'Hello - I am your neighbour. Turn off the music'.

Picture the scene. I'm fresh off the plane and new to Amsterdam, so I haven't fully realised the social horrors that await. So I took this exchange at face value. The guy was about my age (34), maybe a bit older. I could tell, instinctively, that he was on edge about something: he was a bit twitchy and stony-faced. So I said 'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was that loud? I'll turn it down.'

With that, he managed a half-smile and said 'so you are moving in?'
- 'Yes, we just got here. We've moved from London; I've come to start a new job and we're....'
- [interrupting] 'We are used to having no-one live here.'
- 'Oh - right. Was the flat empty for long?'
- 'Yes.'
[awkward silence ensues]
- [brightening] 'well maybe you will come down for a drink tomorrow when you are unpacked? But remember - no music!'

Classic passive-aggressive behaviour. So I turned down the music a bit and we got on with our unpacking.

About an hour later, there was another 'bang! bang! bang!' on the door. I answered it again.

- You are walking! Stop walking!
- Excuse me?
- You are walking on the floor! Stop it!
- Sorry. What?!
- We can hear you! [points upwards]. The walking is too loud! Stop it!

And with that, he turned on his heel and left.

Did he want me to fucking levitate? It was clear by this stage that he was a total crank, so I figured best keep out of his way and not to antagonise him unduly.

The next morning, there was a letter pinned to our front door. "We can hear EVERYTHING. The apartment is very old. We can hear you walking and what you are saying." Hilarious! (I think I still have the letter somewhere; if I do, I'll scan it and post it online). What a complete freak!

Now, any time we play music or turn on the television, he or his girlfriend bound up the stairs and pound the door furiously with their fists. When we ignore them, one goes down to the street and starts ringing the intercom, while the other continues to pound and pound on the door. It's absolutely hilarious! I must video it.

Neighbours Number 2: Support Knickers

The woman on the ground floor is a psychoanalyst's dream. Neighbours Number 1 are just straightforward nutters, but this woman presents a gamut of symptoms. In a nutshell, she is the most intrusive, nosey, interfering person; prone to making unsolicited racist remarks; and typically clad in a sturdy pair of support knickers. Only.

I reckon she's about 55. Now, bits of my body are already beginning to head south at the age of 34, so I have no issue with her decision to wear enormous control pants. But could she put on a skirt, or shorts, or something? Anything?

You may even have seen her? She typically sits in a stuffed armchair by the window watching EVERYTHING that goes on in the street outside. It is now almost impossible to leave or enter the building without her running around the hallways in her support knickers, accosting you, and saying things like 'there's a letter for you there: it's from London!!' or 'I see you arrived home in a taxi the other day!!' On Monday and Thursday mornings, when the garbage is collected, she's typically outside on the street, coquettishly handing bin bags to the dustmen - yes, in her underwear.

She thinks all black people are drug dealers and freaks out if she sees a black person entering or leaving any of the neighbouring buildings, warning us to 'beware'.

She has made it a personal crusade to be given keys to everyone's apartments in the building. She says this is necessary in case there's a fire. Bollocks: she's just nosey. She even wrote to our landlord, demanding keys, saying that we had given permission (we hadn't). I've seen her skulking around one of the other neighbours' apartments when she was away on holiday. When we were on holiday, she was in our apartment, saying she thought there was a leak.

In total, I have had about 300 interactions with her over the past 7 months. That's more than my own mother.

Neighbours Number 3: Outdoor Spa

The guy who lives in the building next door has a terrace which adjoins ours. He was the inspiration for my 'Grandpa's Dick' posting a while ago.

Yes, I know I am probably being prudish, and that public nudity is not such a taboo in continental Europe. But still. Maybe if was just sunbathing, or taking the air, it wouldn't be so much of an issue. But I think it's the combination of his nudity, with his other unconventional behaviour that is causing me some difficulties.

In particular, he recently got himself a girlfriend and they have taken to having baths together. Not in the privacy of their bathroom, with scented candles and oils, or whatever. But in a crappy tin bath on the terrace. With a hose.

In fairness. Seeing Grandpa's Dick is one thing. But seeing it swinging like a dodgy pendulum as he soaps his 80 year old girlfriend's tits with a hose and a bottle of Fa is a bit much.