It’s bank holiday, it’s August, I’m in Portsmouth — it’s Victorious Festival!
If I was at Victorious I’d be even more for it. But living so near and having it so loud has turned it annoying on day 3 when I would just like some quiet time to write. It’s been indistinct sound for most of my life now — the bass, the boom, the cheers I can hear — and I’m done, you know? Hush time. Pull the plug. Either turn it up so I can hear it proper — hear the tune and all — or Heavens, OPEN! (They got rained out a couple of hours ago and that was utter bliss.)
I’ve only got a couple of hours left to endure until next year, the year I’m getting a ticket so I don’t have to endure any more. But tonight, I just want to write. The distracting garble that requires the TV on 30 to drown out is an unwanted excuse for writer’s block. (30 may not sound loud but in my small living room, it makes ears bleed.) I have many other excuses that I can employ, many of which I can’t even voice because they block the words that good. And I’d like to use them. This, this sound is just too much! QUIET! It brings out the spoilsport in me. If I was there it would be different, but I’m not so HUSH!
There’s going to be no hush until they’re done, and then there’ll be no hush because people have to walk by my house to get home. ‘Walk’ makes them sound respectful and quiet, but no. Oh no. I wonder if there’ll be a fight like last night.
Oh shit, I just remembered there’s going to be fireworks. They’ll only last a few minutes but just more noise. Noise. Noise. Noise. That’s all Victorious is to residents who live close enough to be disturbed, but not close enough to enjoy, the revelry.