Noise is a problem if imposed upon a quiet neighbourhood on a Saturday night.
Whoever was creating the noise last night, did so with stealth slowly turning up the volume incrementally until Mrs Monk was torn up mentally by the screaming girls and music not of our choice, so loud our house shook, and so too Mrs Monk's vital organs shook, or so she claimed.
I told Mrs Monk that I would rescue her vital organs but first I would need to take a walk to identify the offenders. She begged me not to confront the roughneck hooligans. I reassured her, then took a walk around the block until I found the source of the commotion. There I found a party for 3 ft high to 4 ft high young girls, and no roughneck hooligans.
Mrs Monk provided me with the telephone Number of the noise police, and I discovered that we were the sixth neighbour to call and that they were already on the case.
The Monks were therefore reassured and ten minutes later the noise subsided and Mrs Monks vital organs were relieved of the trauma and we were able to revisit the Cotes Du Rhone that awaited us on the Kitchen Table.
Soon thereafter there was an unexpected light tap on the door, where I greeted a nice man and a lady from the Council while Mrs Monk ran about the house to make herself decent.
I explained that it was OK and that the noise had abated. He explained that this was because he had told them that he would remove their audio equipment if they did not.
He then asked me to calm down for some reason which surprised me because I felt perfectly calm.
I invited them in but they seemed reluctant. In due course Mrs Monk joined us at the door threshold having made herself respectable.
We noticed both of our visitors redirect their gaze simultaneously to where Mrs Monk's trousers would be, had she remembered to put them on.