YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED
Dear Mary. .
Q. I have just moved into a small abode in a quiet London street where the neighbours say hello and the dustmen come twice a week. I like to read and write there but upstairs is a man who insists on playing his record-player for much of the day from early morning. Such cherished favourites at parties as Deep Purple or Paul Simon are nothing but a distraction when heard through the ceiling. Not only that, it is putting me off the music as well. I long to tell my neighbour that he is too old to play `school study music' during the day, and remind him that Colette once said, 'Music before noon is like smoking on an empty stomach.' What do you advise?
RKB., London W2 A. With the wide range of social contacts to which I know you have access, you could easily engage, for a peppercorn fee, the ser- vices of an unsuccessful actor. Posing as a Care-in-the-Community mental patient, this actor's role would be to knock on the door of the flat above and introduce him- self as a new neighbour who has been very kindly given some space by you in the flat below until he gets his head straight. Smil- ing seraphically, he should then start `grooving' on the landing. If possible, he should even groove into your neighbour's flat. He can explain that the music which he can hear so clearly through the floorboards has acted as a bugle call; that he knows he is being summoned to come up and groove with the guy who is playing it. 'I know you want me up here, man,' he can beam with intensity. 'You've obviously tuned into the fact that there's someone below you who can really get into this music with you.' When thrown out of the flat he can contin- ue to groove on the landing, singing along at the top of his voice. One or two such visi- tations may be necessary before the nui- sance is halted. Should your neighbour con- front you you can shake your head sadly, saying, 'Poor chap, he's quite harmless, I believe. I'm usually out during the day but apparently he can hear the music so clearly through the ceiling that he can't concen- trate on anything else and he thinks he's being summoned.'
Q. I am absolutely heartbroken that, due to family commitments in London, I will not be able to attend a party next week at a cas- tle in the Scottish Highlands. Is there any- thing I can do?
R.H., London W8 A. On the evening in question you should ring the castle at the moment you gauge to be the high point of the party and ask to speak to someone with an invented name. During the half-hour search for this person you will be given a delightful audio impres- sion of how the evening is proceeding as you eavesdrop down the telephone line. If you ring towards ten o'clock, you will have time for several reels and much laughter and jollity, and this will give you a genuine taste of the flavour of the evening. The same technique can be applied to reassure you that you are not missing out on any- thing. The roar of hearty conversations which could be overheard during a call to the Reform Club on the evening of a book launch, for example, would equally confirm the wisdom of your decision not to attend.
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