When I woke up this morning, I heard a disturbing sound

This guy, and to avoid getting nasty comments, letters or being sued, let’s just call him Reverend Cleophus the Third...unless James Brown or John Landis is reading this... unlikely I know, but maybe we should call him Sid. Anyway, Sid made a troubling remark to me. He said “no one ever sues anyone for hundreds of thousands of dollars due to an attitude or dodgey look”, or something like that. I disagreed. I don’t think that he was right and the more I think about it, the more I think he is absolutely wrong. The more I think about it, the more I think that the only reason someone ever does something like sue someone else is due to a bad attitude or a dodgey look.  A few more well travelled solicitors I know would tell you that the reason is that the courts (especially family) are not about justice, fairness or even the law. They are about resolution. They are about getting two people who have a dispute and wearing them out, tying them up in procedures, process and paperwork until they get to a point where any solution, no matter how stupid, would be better than continuing with their dispute, and then sending them the bill. But do we learn from our pettiness, our inflated sense of self?  

There is a far bit of work going on in this area: exactly why and how do people disagree? Relational Contract Theory is fascinating, albeit American understanding of why people won’t disagree when they should. We’ve talked before about happiness and morality and how in the fight between emotions and reason, emotions will win. Especially emotions like disgust, vanity and pride. Then once we have made up our mind on that, we will stick with it way beyond the point of sanity. This is the point where our lovely confirmation bias kicks in and keeps us from re-evaluating the facts.

I live in this nice little quiet street, right on the beach where everyone , well, most people, get along really well. I’ve lived here for a few years now and the place was a clear change from my last abode, especially in terms of the neighbours. My last home was neighboured by druggies on one side and alcos on the other, so a street where most people say hello and are happy and look out for unusual or odd events is a wonderful change. The only problem is; it comes at the expense of the blue house.

The blue house is directly opposite us. When we first moved in, everyone in the street was welcoming and happy to talk to us. They all also warned us about those people in the blue house. They were not welcome. There were stories of having to call the police time and time again due to noise, swearing and fighting. The blue house’s cat was responsible for most of the ills of the street; from lounges and outdoor furniture being ruined to plants not growing properly.

I never had any issue with the people; they seemed nice and kept to themselves. I am not sure whether this is due to their character or that they knew no one liked them. There was only one night that I heard any fighting or yelling, and that didn’t last very long and wasn’t too intrusive, save for a radio being thrown on the road. But upsetting the neighbours on one occasion in over a year is quite alright with me. It’s a fair bit better than my usual average.

Then they moved out. There were stories that they were on the run from the law, that they were on the run from something else, had just run away, or that they had moved to the mines and the like. The house stayed empty for a while and then everyone was relieved when it was tenanted by ‘nice’ people.

Not long went by before the ‘nice’ people, while still being nice, this niceness had qualifications; they were nice, but drove a car that was too expensive. Then the teenage daughter left a light on overnight and was a little noisy. Another brief period of time passed before how they had acted on a particular occasion became who they were. “They did the wrong thing by upsetting...[well, let’s just call her Mrs Murphy]”

Another thing that has happened is that next door has been renovated and another person has moved in. The lady that lives next door is in her nineties and has lived in that house for fifty years. She still has an English accent that is almost too think to understand at times. She pays a grumpy old fool to mow the front lawn, but the back lawn is mainly overgrown weeds and clover. For a while now I have been meaning to spend a few hours mowing and then weeding the yard as it needs doing. This is not only cause I’m just that nice ... [cough] ... fine then... but it is also because it would save a lot of weeds coming through to our yard for a while. So while this was a helping-out-a-neighbour idea, there was also benefit for me in it.

But then her daughter moved in. And then her daughter swore at the neighbours for using a chainsaw too loudly. And then her daughter swore at me for using a sander one Sunday arvo.

“I’m just so sick of all this noise. Could YOU people make any more noise?”

Never ask an Aussie man if he could make more noise after you’ve annoyed him. You’re not going to like the answer. There may not be a valid reason for using a drop saw and a petrol powered pressure cleaner at the same time; come to think of it it’s probably a tad bit dangerous, but I do believe it answers her question.

But here’s the thing: now I am not inclined to help with the back yard at all.  

Why is this? Am I justified in just saying ‘well stuff them then, they can mow their own yard’ when I know that they clearly can’t? I lie to myself and say that I have too much on my plate as it is and couldn’t really spare the time.

I have witnessed the daughter have a partial tantrum at a council worker who was planting trees, prettying up the street; due to their being a palm tree there many decades ago (probably before this guy was born) that caused them some concern. So maybe I don’t want to be subjected to an onlooker. Maybe I don’t want to allow myself to be judged by an unwelcomed external source.

Maybe, and maybe not. But the point is that for some reason, I am a less kind person, I am a lesser person than I was and I can not explain why. If I say it was caused by her, I would have to admit that she has some sense of power to do that, which I don’t want to do. Maybe she’s just cranky and lonely and I should cut her some slack.

Australia has a fairly good track record at being able to turn the other cheek as a country. We don’t get all pissy when our leaders do something stupid. The closest we’ve ever come to civil war or rebellion was over rum and we didn’t throw a tantrum and dump a whole bunch of tea into a river or try and blow up parliament house with gunpowder, we just found him cowering under his bed and sent him back to England. “This one’s no good,” we said, “but no harm done, just send us another one.”  

By the way, sorry for all the cheesey Blues Brothers references and links... here’s one more to make a lie out of my apology. It’s my son’s new all time favourite movie. A while ago I lamented that the greatest joy in life is watching four children eat their breakfast and sway in time to ‘Love in an Elevator’. It’s been topped by those same kids not wanting to go to the school disco because the music is terrible... “I’d go if they played a little SRV or Beatles Dad.” ... you kids rock.

This post’s lame joke:

Most people don’t realise that Heaven isn’t above us and Hell isn’t below us, they are side by side. One day, Satan threw a huge kegger and ended up burning down a few sheds and the big fence that separates the two areas.

The next morning, God is out there and he is mad. I mean, he is really mad.

“You’ll fix up this fence and quickly.” He yells at Satan.

Satan, bleary eyed and hung-over, replies “yeah, yeah, we have tonnes of tradies here in hell. We have concreters, builders, builder’s labourers. It’ll be done in no time.”

A few hours later, God is surprised to see the fence has not only been completely rebuilt, but it is far more magnificent than the last one. When God inspects it a little closer, he notices that the fence is actually three metres on the heaven side of the boundary.

“You bum” God yells at Satan, “You won’t get away with this, I’m going to sue you for this.”

“Really?” Satan responds, “and where are you going to find a lawyer?”

This post’s groovy, identity seeking quote:

(you know the one I’m going to throw at you already don’t you dear reader?)

This is the Court...which has its decaying houses and its lighted lands in every shire, which has its worn-out lunatic in every madhouse and its dead in every churchyard, which has its ruined suitor with his slipshod heels and threadbare dress borrowing and begging through the round of every man's acquaintance, which gives to monied might the means abundantly of wearying out the right, which so exhausts finances, patience, courage, hope, so overthrows the brain and breaks the heart, that there is not an honourable man among its practitioners who would not give — who does not often give — the warning, "Suffer any wrong that can be done you rather than come here!"

This post’s inappropriate over share:

Continuing on from the theme of pettiness, or a variation of it, I can’t stand people who say “for all intensive purposes”. What on earth does that mean? I know they meant to say ‘for all intents and purposes’ but what is an intensive purpose? What isn’t? Are they even listening to what they’re saying? Why are non-intensive or less-intensive purposes not allowed? I know it seems little but man does it get under my skin. It’s like all these bogans who slush out the supposed ANZAC poem and say “...age will not weary them, nor the years condemn.” What does that mean ? Why would the years condemn them? That doesn’t make any sense. The years may contemn them, that would make sense. 

I guess I’m just small minded and petty...