The mystery of the disappearing neighbours

Remember my neighbours? The ones with the ferocious dog, the tattooed arms and the unholy shouting in the night? The ones from this post?

Curiously, just a few days after that post appeared, my neighbours ... disappeared. That is to say, they no longer appeared to be residing in their flat. No screams in the night, no barking dog, no marathon party sessions. Mind you, there was still a light burning, which was actually a string of lights stuck into a vase and left in the living room [I could see it through a crack in the blind]. But for all intents and purposes, they were gone.

Well, the guy with the tattooed arms and the pugnacious attitude was gone. His girlfriend appeared approximately once a day with the dog. Typically she came driving up with another girl around her age, who also had a mean ferocious dog with her, in a small compact car. She’d arrive, slam the gate, go into the flat, and reappear a few minutes later. Then they’d drive off again.

From this we derived the assumption that the boyfriend had been busted. Or that he’d gone, er, collecting somewhere out in the country. Or that he’d gone abroad to pick up a delivery. Or any number of other scandalous scenarios. [Oh yes, our neighbours light up our dull lives with excitement galore!]

However, just as we’d relegated our tattooed friend to the dungeons of Litla-Hraun prison, suddenly one night he appeared. Or shoud I say, became audible. Shouting and cursing in the middle of the night, just like old times. Serenading us to sleep on the sweet wings of nostalgia. Yessirreebob.

But lo! The next day he was gone. And the routine resumed: the girlfriend turning up once a day with the dog, going in, then back out and away.

Then other people started appearing. Some girl arrived carrying bags [like gym bags, according to AAH] and went into the flat. Other people arrived and went into the flat, where they stayed for a time before leaving again. During those times there would sometimes be vague party sounds – nothing raucous. Then the flat would become deserted once more.

A few days ago, our tattooed friend showed up again. It was early evening and at one point our friend came out into the yard and hung around a bit, as if waiting for somebody. About half an hour later whoever he’d been waiting for arrived with a delivery of some sort, that they carried inside. That night, as before, there was some party action, but nothing major, and by morning all was quiet. Around 10 am two guys showed up, stoned out of their tree, and knocked on the door, calling someone’s name. When no one answered, they turned to leave, and as they did, one took a flying leap and hopped over the waist-high fence, his crotch escaping the sharp edge of the pickets by a couple of millimetres. Probably thought he could fly. Probably was unaware how close he came to losing his balls. Poor bastard.

Then a couple of evenings ago, it seemed as though they’d all been reuinited – the friend, the girlfriend, and assorted regulars, all except for the dog. Partying away, shouting throughout the night, awake until the early hours of the morning. Just as I was having breakfast around 9 am, a black Benz drove up, and a guy got out who had the same aggressive aura as our friend. He went through the gate and knocked on the door, and whoever was on the inside demanded to know who was there. About an hour later, they all got in the car and drove off.

Since then – nothing.

So what do you think? Meth factory? Hideout? Weapons trading? Trafficing in humans? Nuclear bomb construction? More to the point: D’you reckon I could get a job as a spy? Or write a thrilling suspense novel like Arnaldur Indriðason and make millions of Icelandic crowns? [We’ve certainly made up enough stories already to fill several novels]. Or write a screenplay and sell it to the BBC who could make a series out of it starring James Nesbitt?

Or do you think I should stop spying on my neighbours and get a life?

NEVER MIND – WHAT’S THE WEATHER LIKE?
Another cold day. Ventured out at noon to go to the bakery and post office and got seriously afflicted with frozen-thigh syndrome. Meanwhile, young AAH insists on wearing summer shoes with cut-out holes in them, barefoot, and no winter coat. Why she has not contacted pneumonia fifteen times over I cannot understand. Current temps 4°C, which doesn’t sound so bad, but we have windkill. Sunrise today was at 08.48 and sunset is due for 17.35.