Saturday night was nuts. It couldn’t have been worse weather to have an all night party in the garden complete with loud speakers. The sky was elephant grey and threw down hard, cold rain in unrelenting sheets. The music started at seven.
The Prince noticed it first while we were watching TV. It wasn't too bad then. By 8.30 his eyelids were drooping and I was asleep on the sofa. Because of this, we both decided to go to bed – to sleep. I was in bed by 9.30pm - something I'd been meaning to do for a long time.
“I’m sure that noise will stop in an hour or so,” I said.
An hour or so later and more cars just kept on arriving. People from all over south London were just flocking to our neighbourhood.
“Ok, I’m going to sleep in Rosie’s room,” I said. It was by now around 10.30.
I packed my sleep gubbins – eyemask, earplugs, mobile phone, book, duvet for floor, duvet for cover, soft feather pillow. I set up camp right next to Rosie’s potty full of wee. After reading for a bit, I fell asleep. But almost immediately Nat came in. I thought he’d had enough and was coming to join me.
He told me there was a fire and so there was. Orange flames lashed out of the upstairs window of a house about four doors away from the party. Some Korean students live there. One of them came running out with an orange towel wrapped round her. Scores of men scarpered out of the party house, jumped into cars and sped off really fast. I took their number plates from behind my twitchy curtain.
By now the fire appeared to have engulfed the roof. Black smoke bellowed out and then the windows exploded. The music stopped. The fire brigade arrived.
As soon as it was clear no one was hurt, the bastards turned their loud speakers back on. I haven't a clue what happened to the poor Korean student in the towel.
Went back to Rosie’s room. At 2am the floor was literally vibrating... and not in a good way. This time I went outside and marched up to the lone police van still waiting outside the fire house. He was very handsome in his uniform. Begged him to do something but he said he couldn’t - wasn't within his remit. Asked him to pretend he was the drugs squad. He apologised and said he couldn't.
Nat tried calling the council. They said they’d write a letter as their team had all gone home. Back to Rosie’s room. She slept through the whole thing (she has to save her energy for her 5.30am wake up). Spent Sunday feeling like I'd been walloped by an iron pole.
The vasectomy suggestion did not go down well. He has said "No" loud and clear.
"There's no way I'm ever getting my balls sliced open. Imagine if I asked you to get your tits cut off."
So he feels emasculated. Ah, diddums.
I have reached the point where I'm truly stuck as to what to do next. How to change his mind. It ain't gonna happen. I think I'll just have to accept this but it still hits me once a month and makes me so sad. My love for Rosie is just too intense. I feel I need to spread it out a bit or she'll get smothered.
Am totally and utterly sick of thinking about it though. Sick of talking about this. Sick of trying new strategies which never work. Sick of it all. Mulling over lots in head. Don't want to break up but DO want to do something really drastic so he starts appreciating me.
Am also sick of the "I" word. Feel this blog needs a new steer. Am thinking of trying to see life from his point of view - if I manage to get inside his head, maybe it'll help in accepting my lot.
This is about to become his diary for a bit. Let's see how it goes.
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