Parties, pals, and poo – I was proud to be the neighbour from hell

‘We’re here, we’re here, let us in!’

My friends were banging on the front door, their laughter and the clinking of bottles in blue carrier bags making an almighty racket. 

It was 2018, and my boyfriend Ben* and I were having afters in the top floor London flat we’d been living in for two years.

‘The funniest thing happened,’ my friend Sarah* said. ‘We couldn’t remember your flat number, so we just pushed every single buzzer until we got it right.’

It was 4am. We could not have cared less. 

You might assume reading this that I was a noisy, nightmare neighbour. And you’d be right. 

It feels like patience is in short supply in the UK at the moment – and noise is one of the most hotly contested issues. 

From the clicks of hijacked Lime Bikes echoing through the streets, loud groups lingering outside pubs to commuters who are seemingly incapable of using headphones, for many of us, things are getting louder, and more annoying. 

I’m one of the first to complain, but the irony is, I was once one of those obnoxious perpetrators. In fact, I was probably the worst one of all.

Because I was an inconsiderate, noisy neighbour – and I had absolutely zero guilt about it. 

I’ve always loved partying. In my early 20s, my friends and I were constantly on the lookout for parties, raves and festivals. 

So when I met Ben when I was 22, who was exactly the same, we just clicked instantly. 

Obviously it wasn’t a non-stop party. Quiet nights with true crime documentaries and a Chinese takeaway were our favourite way to chill out.

In fact, part of the reason we loved that flat so much is because it was in such a peaceful area. We were both working really high-stress jobs at the time, and we loved having a quiet little space to retreat to.

No, the hypocrisy isn’t lost on me  – and I know now I was wrong. 

Regardless, we were in our early twenties, so we were firmly in our party era.

Usually every couple of weeks, we’d blow off some steam with our mates – and our flat, with its big living room and lovely open terrace, was the perfect location for it. 

After parties, all-day barbeques that spun into sunrise finishes, impromptu ‘quiet, mid-week drinks’ that got a bit out of hand – we played host to them all. 

I was an inconsiderate, noisy neighbour – and I had absolutely zero guilt about it

We had no remorse. We were young, stupid, and all we cared about was having fun. 

If anything, in our immaturity, we relished the thought of having an enemy we could antagonise.

We already had a bad relationship with the rest of our block, so we didn’t care about how we behaved, or if we pissed them off. 

Our neighbours hated us the moment we arrived, thanks to our landlord installing the cheapest flooring known to man – with underlay clearly a foreign concept to him. 

Downstairs were always banging on their ceiling with a stick when we were walking around, or even just hoovering. 

So their passive aggressive behaviour, over noises and behaviour we had no control over which started on our very first day in the flat, basically endorsed our ‘f*ck it’ attitude, and led to us not caring about the noises and behaviour we did have control over. 

Sometimes the chaos didn’t even make it into the flat. 

There was one memorable night, after being out in Soho, that we got a cab back to ours with friends. We were walking down the path to our building when suddenly, out of nowhere, our mate dropped his pants and did a poo.

Apparently he just couldn’t wait the two extra minutes to get in. 

In our defence, we did send him home after that and cleaned it up, but only a day later after our neighbours had doubtless seen.

It’s not like those in our block held back in making their feelings known. Some would come up to knock on our door, mid-party. We just ignored it. 

The night of that particular 4am after party, when Sarah told us what had happened, Ben and I laughed, poured ourselves some drinks, and didn’t give it another thought.

Unsurprisingly, we had three irate notes through the letterbox the next morning. The content ranged from simmering passive to outright fury.

We probably should have replied. I did actually think about writing a sorry letter or buying some chocolates, but by the time my hangover and the fear had passed I felt like I had missed that window.

When we left in 2022, they probably had a party bigger than any we had thrown. 

Thinking about it now, I’ll admit we were the absolute worst neighbours. It was probably not an easy six years for them. It’s a miracle they never called the police. 

But while I regret some individual moments, I can’t ever reflect too sadly on our time in that flat, no matter how terrible we were. I look back on those years as some of the best of my life. 

These days, our credentials have definitely improved. I like to think of us as reformed noisy neighbours.

We’ve gotten married, adopted a puppy and moved to a nicer flat (one with better soundproofing). We rarely party like we used to. I don’t think we could handle it if we did.

My mum asked me the other day what I’d do if I ended up living next to party-era neighbours. Maybe I’m being delusional, but I’d like to think I’d be lenient on them, thinking of them as younger versions of me. 

She wasn’t convinced. 

It’s an inescapable fact that as you get older, life gets more serious. So I think you’ve got to take your fun where and when you can. When I look back on those six years with Ben in that flat, I’ll think about all the chaotic fun we had, not how we pissed off our neighbours. 

I just won’t think of the poo.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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