loud
The lovely quiet days are over. The two silent sisters who lived in the flat underneath ours have gone. They never made a sound, so much so that we often wondered if they were in at all during the weekends (they weren't) or in the evenings (they weren't). No music, no TV, no loud talking. And they rarely used the garden, which made us feel better about not having access to it. The best neighbours you could possibly dream of - except perhaps when the cat flies out of the window and they are not there to let us go through to the garden to retrieve her.
They have now moved to Streatham (who would anybody move to Saint Reatham is beyond my grasp) and let the flat to two friends of theirs. Boys. They are now (nearly midnight) moving furniture around and trying to decide where the best place for the stereo is, by turning it up in different places in the room. Of course, if our new neighbours turn out to be cute, and throw lovely parties with gorgeous men and never fail to invite us, I am sure we can put up with a little commotion every now and then.