I live in a quiet street.
Actually, I live in a fairly crazy street, with shouting, loud music, car chases, sirens, and occasionally, gunfire, in what is considered by many to be the 'badlands' of my city. But for the last year or so, since my mother died, I've been living in her quiet little street, in a leafy, privileged suburb. It's only a mile and a half away in distance from my place, but a huge leap in tranquility. We, (her three sons and one daughter), are trying to sell the house, but so far, no luck. In the meantime, it's a far nicer place to live than mine.
Except for tonight. At 11 p.m. it sounded as though a war had kicked off. A noisy party in the big old georgian house at the end of the road, and industrial invasion-strength fireworks booming, screaming, rattling windows. Flash-bang!
This went on for an hour, intermittently. The booming music was turned up, groups of yelling people staggered about, there was the sound of breaking glass. I went out when a group lingered a bit too long outside, and told them to..... um. 'Please go away', or a short pithy phrase ending in "off". A few other residents came out, some elderly, to see what was going on. And then.... the police. Six vans in our little street, more, apparently on the other entry to the big house.
I don't know who called them, but very soon there was a continuous stream of people leaving.
Things went much quieter. A few people argued with police officers, and were offered a free ride in a big white van. One girl took off her shoes and threw them at a police-woman. They gave her some free plastic bracelets and she joined the group in the van.
Eventually, all the vans went. Up the road there was renewed noise and laughing, sound of car doors slamming, engines revving, and two cars emerged, hurtling down the street. All of a sudden, there were blue lights, and two unmarked cars blocked them off. The laughter then came from the residents as the breathalysers came out. And a police officer searched the cars. Another police van came to take the drivers away. And, according to the neighbour, there were blue lights flashing on the next street over.
I'm pleased by the thought that some of those noisy revellers will have an uncomfortable night in a police cell, but no doubt the party's hosts will remember their party as 'awesome'.
~I'm tempted to go out later, up the road, and anoint the bastard's Audi R8 with paint-stripper, as a mark of my appreciation.
The Morning After the Party -Manfred Mann, 1968.
The morning after the party,
I lay upon my bed
Starin' at the ceiling
And feelin' like I'm dead
What a lovely way
What a lovely way to start a day
The girl last night that I fancied
Is still drunk on the floor
But in the mornin' light now
Don't look so good no more
What a lovely way
What a lovely way to start a day
Can't find my tie
Can't find my shoes
And there's a hole in the pocket where my money used to be
I've got the mornin' after the party blues
I've got to be clearin' up now
Before my folks return
But my poor head starts achin'
Every time I turn
What a lovely way
What a lovely way to start a day
Can't find my tie
Can't find my shoes
And there's a hole in the pocket where my money used to be
I've got the mornin' after the party blues
Should be clearin' up now
Before my folks return
But my poor head starts achin'
Every time I turn
What a lovely way
What a lovely way to start a day
