The worst in my old place was when he got drunk one Summer night (when all the windows were open) and played The Entertainer over and over again for hours. Not quite Guantanamo but everyone was up, prowling around going “should we go round and ring the bell?” We didn’t. Years later one of their daughters came up to me in the pub and said: “we can hear you when you laugh”. So perhaps I’m the nightmare neighbour.

Further evidence for that is that the woman below me hates me and has left a note asking me not to slam the door when I go to the pub and to stop dragging furniture around - I don’t do either. I’m tempted to show her this, but she might think I was taking the piss. I might well be.