There is no mute button for real life

The common criticism of Americans from anyone who isn't an American is that a lot of them seem so loud. I know enough Americans (especially as I live in the country) to know that loud Americans are an exception and not a rule, but those exceptions seriously need volume controls.

The wall at the head of our bed is directly adjacent to the bedroom of one of our neighbours who is one such loud American. At all hours of the day, this guy does his country proud by tal- sorry, bellowing at his housemates about the most inane shit. Sometimes, clearly hoarse from all the bellowing, he turns up his really horrible music (usually Snow Patrol or similar).

He makes most of his noise really early on Sunday morning, or late at night on every night except Friday or Saturday - presumably because he is out drinking weak beer and being a douchebag in public on those nights.

Last night, he decided to go for a record. He was bellowing pretty much from the moment I got home at around 8pm. At around 1am, he started singing 'I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor' by Arctic Monkeys - the lyrics, at least, the tune was something of his own creation. I banged on the wall, and his volume reduced slightly for enough time that I could pass out.

At 6am, I awoke with a start. He was still bellowing, and judging from his comments to a housemate, he and his housemate(s) had been awake all night. Stuffing my head between two pillows, I managed to pass out until around 7.30am, when he had stopped. He had managed around 10 hours straight of douchebaggery, if only Norris McWhirter were alive to witness it himself.

Between this cockgobbler and the girls on the bus with mobile phones glued to their ears, the misconception that all Americans are in love with the sound of their own voice is all too easy to believe.