I’m quite a placid person, despite the occasional often ranting outburst on this blog but there are times when someone pisses me off and makes me ranty in real life.

At half 8 tonight I finally had enough of listening to the incessant revving of a car engine and went to investigate.  Surprise, sur-fucking-prise, if it isn’t the same arsehole from up the road that I had to go over to a few months ago when he was hammering the shit out of the car at night.

I was polite and told him that I could hear him revving his car over the top of my telly in my house.  Then he shrugged his shoulders and revved the engine again so I practised some anglo-saxon words on him, got out my phone and made a point of counting the numbers to his house.  He stopped.

If you live on a housing estate, you have to accept the fact that you can’t batter cars with hammers or rev your engine at night when your neighbours’ kids are in bed and you also have to accept the fact that if you do batter cars with hammers or rev your engine at night when your neighbours’ kids are in bed, said neighbours are quite likely to come round to your house and shout at you.