My biggest bug-bear being noise, of which consideration is a vital and integral constituent, its natural that any affray would cause me much consternation and dismay. One of the main reasons for having a holiday house in France is to avail ourselves of the peace and quiet it purportedly has to offer. The constant barrage and onslaught of noise, pollution, congestion and the like that is London needs to be offset by some intermittent respite during the course of a year. France seemed to offer us the perfect antidote and solution. Am I therefore naïve or mistaken in this assumption? Our house is situated in a small town as we didn’t want to be so isolated that we would need to get in a car every time we needed to go somewhere. We hadn’t intended to buy a townhouse but the house was so beautiful and well-maintained that we fell in love with it instantly. It has 5 floors with generous rooms, high ceilings and wooden floors dating back to the 1800’s. There is a small garden and a large patio perfect for outdoor entertaining during summer. It is within walking or cycling distance from the river where one can freely swim to cool off. The days are hot but the nights are cool making it the perfect climate during the summer months and despite the size of the house, its cosy in winter and easy to heat. This all sounds idyllic, wouldn’t you agree? So what has got my goat? – The league of gentlemen who stay in temporary accommodation directly opposite our house. They are migrant workers who come to France over the summer to work in the fields, harvesting crops. I admire them, they are hard working, decent young men and simply trying to earn enough money to send back to their homes. I am sure that what they earn is a pittance. I have no problem with this. What irks me, is their ongoing desire to play their music at the highest rate of decibels possible , whenever they happen to be in situ. This varies, dependent on the hours they are required to work. Not only are their speakers blasting forth but there is the added vexation that their choice of music is not to everyone’s taste, least of all mine. I am sure for many its very enjoyable. However, I would prefer to choose to listen to it at my behest , if and when it suits me. I dislike having it foisted upon me and being forced ( along with the whole street ) to have it occupy your every waking ( and sleeping ) thought and movement. It has become so bad that I merely have to hear a single note to become instantly satanic in my response. If I had voodoo dolls to hand they would be riddled with pricks.
Tolerance is an admirable and credible attribute. There is also the question of compromise. Balance also springs to mind. How does one achieve all of these in a situation where there is a language barrier and therefore limited means of communication ? There is also the added complication of not being misinterpreted as being biased or racist. If one is to attempt to seek a peaceful and fair solution to an issue, how does one go about it without full comprehension of what the other is hoping to achieve?
Resentment builds and grows. It can become toxic and only causes damage to the source. In many cases the object of the resentment is blissfully unaware of it. The solution therefore lies with the person harbouring the bitterness and vexation.
I guess I will have to get used to permanently wearing silicone ear plugs or to play Morris Dancing music at full hilt.
