LaRoux at 90

It feels like ages since I've written anything on this here blog. It's been over a week at least. The night after the last entry the neighbour upstairs was once more up all night long singing Sinead O'Conner and Chris De Burgh. No Lionel Ritchie. Ka and myself only got around three hours sleep. Ka has since discovered he is a postman and I encountered him in the close during the week and gruffly asked him if there would be any karaoke in the near future. He chuckled embarrassed and mumbled something about 'not for some time' to which I grunted in reply trying to look as unimpressed as I could possibly be. An impression of Simon Cowell, in a very bad mood, I had been practising for some time, only I was too chicken to tell the neighbour how f***ing awful his singing voice actually is.
Talking of unimpressed, Ka and myself took a trip to the flicks last week to see 'The Lovely Bones' the rather depressing tale of a depressed family dealing with the rape and murder of their child. The depressed murdered girl herself acts as narrator from a Daliesque inbetween world as she stubbornly refuses to move on to heaven and from here watches her family from afar. Though I suppose if she had agreed to mosey on up to heaven to hang out with the angels that wouldn't have made as interesting or as visual a movie. Peter Jackson really comes up trumps with the visual 'inbetween' world with some fantastic effects and landscapes and along with the brilliant performances from all the actors involved made the movie more than watchable. Like i said though, I left the movie depressed, musing over death and dying, and drove home to snowy East Kilbride, through the dark in the rain.
It was this night in question we were kept up, wishing death upon our drunken, singing neighbour upstairs and the rest of his Sinead O'Conner fan club. When Ka and myself eventually gave up at around 7am and crawled out of bed to start the rest of the decorating in the bedroom, him and his drunken mates were still at it. So, being the imbecile that I am, I turned on my stereo and cranked it up real loud. LaRoux at 90 decibels. Battle did commence with every break in the LaRoux album being interupted by the bawling voices upstairs trying to sing over my stereos bass beats. Once we finished the painting Ka and myself escaped to the gym and upon our return I smiled seeing the blinds down upstairs. They must have collapsed of exhaustion while we had been out. Silence had finally fallen. So I immediately took the opportunity and turned my stereo on and up. Needless to say on the Saturday evening the mates retreated to the relative quiet of their own houses and as I prepared to settle down to a night infront of the tv, while Ka was out at Sara's birthday party, Chaz phoned up requesting my presence at the Byre. So it was a few beers down the pub which eventually enabled me to fall into an unconscious state on the couch upon Ka's return home from her party. A party at which all the girls were seemingly crying at one point or another, taking their turns throughout the whole night to have 'a moment'. What a wonderfully depressing party that must have been. I'm glad I went to the Byre with Chaz, even though he was slightly depressed about his current work situation. We met up with Jim and David (Jim's pal... at least I think his name was David... he was a bit depressed too) and drank a few Budvar ending the night with an escape before Chaz headed off to Downtown, EK's most popular den for nightlife.
Woke up the next morning with a headache, caused, of course, by the stench of drying paint around me. The bedroom looked beautiful though and the neighbour upstairs was obviously still dead to the world after his 50 hour karaoke session. Things were looking up.