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We live in a lovely, quiet little suburb with great neighbors on either side of us, as well as across the street. However, we seem to have been hit with the quintessential "neighbors from hell" who unfortunately took up residence approximately three years ago, directly behind our property. Our block of land slopes up from the front to the back resulting in our backyard neighbor sitting a good deal higher than us. This means from their second story windows they have full view of our backyard. Not a problem generally as I don't really care if they get to stare at our washing on the line, or whether I am still scuffing around in my pajamas at midday on a Sunday.

My problem is with the residents of the property. Firstly, the Little Lady of the house has the kind of voice that can strip paint from your walls. Having a number of children means that weekends and after school, the neighborhood is ringing to the tune of her shrieking. Closing our windows and doors is not enough to block out her voice. Stand in our kitchen long enough and you find out who has not done their homework, not cleaned their room or forgotten to feed the dog. This Little Lady can project her voice like any well trained drill sergeant. And that's just week days. Come the weekend it's a whole other story!

Soon as Friday afternoon hits, the Man of the House cranks up the barbecue (or as my husband calls it the lard-ecue) so a thick gray pall hangs over the neighborhood. The children are obviously all home from school as they are perched in their usual position on the roof of their cubby house glaring down at us as they throw lolly wrappers into our yard. The Little Lady of the house is shrieking for one of her little darlings to get her another beer. The stereo is soon blaring to the point our windows are vibrating. Please don't get me wrong, I don't mind people enjoying their backyard, but why at the expense of their neighbors enjoying the relative peace and quiet of their own? Why do these people have to assume we all want to listen to their choice of music? But I digress.

Fridays, from about 6pm you hear the Man of the House greeting his mates. Now the smell of the smoke from the barbecue is mingling with the unmistakable smell of hash (grass, pot, whatever you want to call it)! From this point I know we are in for a long night! Pretty soon the sound of ribald laughter and not-so-gentle ribbing of each other degenerates into an alcohol and drug-fueled slanging match. The clinking of beer bottles

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