It’s been like living in a horror film… the Australian, like a villain, is always there, always saying things… When he was in prison the cat would sniff around his flat and try to go in if the door was open. Our cat’s favourite hobby is going into other people’s flats to see if they’ve got any food. But now that the Australian’s back, he cannot coerce our cat anywhere near his door. He pets the cat on the balcony, and one night the cat had a go at him – then had a go at me – the cat seemed to have developed a sensitive spot on his hip.

“Flying ants. There’s a plague of ‘em,” said the Australian.

Then when we were decorating, he had to nose around. He was bored. He watched us sand and paint. “When I used to decorate I could do 29 rooms in one day,” he said.

One night Power Pack and I came home at 2 am and the Australian told us that 2 girls had been round at 11:30 pm looking for us. We don’t have friends who stop by unannounced. Especially at that hour.

Saturday at the organic market I noticed the front wheel on my bike was loose. It could easily have just flown off. Prolly nothing to do with the neighbour.. but it freaked me out just the same.

It’s hot, it’s summer, we have to the door open for air, which the Australian takes as an open invitation to chat any time. One day I was decorating with the door closed, cos I didn’t have any paint-shorts that fit. I was sanding the window ledge. And his face was at the window.

“Is this going to be bub’s room? Are you going to paint little animals on the walls?” or something. It really creeps me out to have him there, right next to our bedroom. Out newly decorated, finally finished bedroom. Nice married couple expecting baby, with big 2-bedroom apartment. Next door to guy just out of jail in a one room flat with nothing to do.

But the Australian is not the worst… it is his archenemy, the Oi Guy, who has brought real misery upon us.

Power Pack and I were so happy on Monday to finally be able to sleep in our own bed again, not the fold out sofa. The bedroom is so nice now, the carpet, the walls, everything all clean and fresh. And not yet cluttered or dusty. Like a new flat!

But last night, the Oi Guy was at it. “OOOOOIIIIIYYYYYY” at a very loud volume, about every 10 minutes. I dozed between Oi’s until about 3 am when Power Pack got up. I told him to just go up and tell the guy to shut up. It couldn’t make things any worse.
And the c*nt wasn’t even outside on the balcony but IN his flat, right above the Australian. Imagine how loud it must have been next door! And for every Oi there was a “shut the f*ck up!” from the Australian.

Maybe he had some anger management classes in jail and knows he better not go upstairs in case he loses it big time again. Or maybe he’s waiting to get another gun.

Anyway, Power Pack went up and knocked on the Oi’s door and told him to shut up.

“Nothing to do with me,” said the Oi guy. He is clearly a retard and should be in an institution. I’m not even going to apologise for lack of political incorrectness.

Power Pack tried to sleep on the sofa. I closed the windows despite the heat, but could still hear it. “OOOIIYYYYY…OYYYEEEEE!”

I never went back to sleep, getting more and more anxious about it, and anxious also about the baby. If we can’t take one night of no sleep what will it be like with the baby? How will we cope? Power Pack can’t cope with life as it is. We went to the psychiatrist yesterday where I saw first hand the breakdown in that system. Since his psychiatrist left a year ago, he has seen a string of unhelpful students, none of whom has any idea about his case. This only makes him more anxious.

Power Pack never got to sleep at all. All that work on the new room only to find we can’t sleep in it.

As I lay awake for hours, tossing and turning, I thought about handing my Masai spear to the Australian. And how I would clean it before and after, and where I would hide it…But it would be too obvious a weapon… “Man found dead in council flat…police on lookout for tribal spear.” Then I thought about a knife… but I’d have to give the Australian the knife sharpener; we bought one and never got around to using it. That was one thing about Ahmed, my ex – his knives were always sharpened and his shoes always shined. But what a stupid thought! If I had stayed with him I’d prolly be in burkha by now.

I thought about when Power Pack and I were kept awake all night by a barking dog in Romania… the only other time I thought about taking a life. But at least we did not have to LIVE in that hotel.

I finally slept for about 2 hours before I had to go to work. What a trial of patience – the boss had gone on holiday as usual leaving vital work undone. I had to go a massive building where I had never been before, a place with 10-foot high metal doors, super-high security, a power system off the national grid and thousands of servers. At least it was air-conditioned. Though the noise of thousands of computers is pretty unnerving.

I was taken to a cage like hundred of others, given a monitor to plug into the back of one of our company servers. I am very impressed that on 2 hours of sleep I managed to figure our a job that I wasn’t even sure I could do…

Since I was in the area I stopped by Henry’s to pick up a few more paintings. He was extremely nice to me – brought the pictures downstairs since I literally collapsed on entering the gallery and could not have climbed 4 flights. He brought me ice and BOUGHT me a Lucozade.

Now home and sweating… and wondering if any sleep will come tonight.

Petra