At our previous house, we lived next door to some interesting people. There was an old woman who was so profoundly deaf that even I didn’t mind speaking to her. A couple where the woman was so thin and whose hair was so frizzy I once accidentally used her as a mop. A busy prostitute (actually, that didn’t actually turn out to be true as we later learnt that her boyfriend always drove home to his mother after sex – and people think I’m odd). And, finally, a couple with two large savage dogs who barked from when they were kicked outside as the husband left for work in the morning (exactly half an hour before the time I used to wake up) until he returned later that night.
One important factor of Aspergers (well, mine anyway) is an extremely low tolerance for sound disturbance. So listening to two dogs letting rip for twelve hours was not a good thing. I tried all the obvious solutions, like sending Vanessa round to remonstrate, but nothing seemed to convince our neighbours that there was anything unreasonable in their dogs making so much noise that a nearby airport complained. I even looked into getting a shotgun but unfortunately my honesty on the permit application – Question: Why do you want a shotgun? Answer – To shoot next door’s dogs – put paid to that idea. So, I left the country. I spent almost the entire summer travelling and, in the autumn, went to a Greek Island with Vanessa for some peace.
We chose a villa next to an olive grove with absolutely no near neighbours. We even declined the services of a cleaner, deeming it too disturbing. What we didn’t realise is that olives are valuable in Greece and, as a result, are closely protected. Generally, the owner ties a large vicious dog on a very long length of chain and leaves it there. Predictably, the dog barks and howls almost continuously. Unlike the dogs next door, however - who went off shift when their master returned in the evening - the dog in the olive grove next to our villa barked all night. Every night.
To make it worse, we managed to adopt a stray cat during our stay. That might not sound bad, but it was. Vanessa has a weakness for anything furry and helpless and this particular bag of bones and fluff that waltzed up to our villa one morning fitted the bill perfectly. We called him Arthur, although I was very strict about not feeding him…for two days, and then I bought a big bag of catfood at the shop in the nearest village. But I was firm: he had to stay outside at night, which he did, curled up next to a big bowl of Kitikat deluxe. Unfortunately, that brought every other pitiful half-starved cat in Greece to our door. Ignoring the slavering dog chained up nearby, they did their best to intimidate Arthur away from his food by hissing and screaming at him, while he wailed back in terror at the top of his lungs. So I now had a demented dog, who was manically trying to break his chain and go on a cat killing stampede, every feline within a hundred mile radius howling threatening war cries, and Arthur, who knew exactly where our bedroom window was, wailing with such force I thought his lungs would burst. Could it get any worse?
As it was, it could and, very shortly, it did. Vanessa, unable to accept that nature clearly wanted a bloody carnage outside our villa and, more to the point, Arthur was likely to be at the centre of it, tore out of bed and rushed outside. Her banshee-like scream at the gang of cats intent on disembowelling Arthur was so loud that even the dog stopped barking. For a blissful, glorious moment, there was complete and absolute silence. And then, everyone seemed to gather themselves and continued as before. So I lay there, in what was supposed to be a peaceful retreat, listening to a barking dog, howling cats, and a screaming wife. I was glad to get home.
