Fatal floor

There's an old woman who lives above me who must conduct the most anti-social lifestyle for a pensioner you could possibly find.

For a long time I thought the flat was occupied by a shift worker, or a petulant recluse with a penchant for spinning Foster and Allen records in the middle of the night. But no, it's a woman of at least 70 years of age, who appears to like nothing more than switching her TV or radio on to full volume at roughly 11pm every night and leaving it like that for the next few hours.

The sound level never falters. It's like trying to sleep under the floor of a multiplex cinema. Don't old people need some rest at night? Moreover, aren't they supposed to like sleeping a lot more than everyone else? For what possible reason does this self-styled crumbling media junkie have for persisting with such a din to such an inhospitable, unreasonable hour? It got so bad I actually had to re-arrange the layout of my flat so I wasn't sleeping directly under this cacophony, and could effectively muffle the sound by keeping my radio on all night tuned to inoffensive static. That's no way to live, awake or asleep.

I saw her once, hobbling around aside on a walking frame, looking as if she hadn't the energy or inclination to withstand a gentle breeze let alone several hundred decibels. I can only reason she must slip into a doze forgetting she's left all her machinery on, and come round none the wiser. Meantime I lie in bed, dreaming up the ten most far-fetched but entertaining ways of disabling all electrical appliances on the floor above me. Permanently.