As a teenager I was into shaggy-perm rock music. There were mitigating circumstances. I was a teenager in the 1980s. Prancing around in my ripped jeans and biker jacket, I listened to Bon Jovi and Aerosmith in my bedroom, dreaming of life as a rock chick. It could have been worse, I could be atoning for a crush on George Michael or Limah!
Either way, if you're under 40 you probably have no clue what I'm on about. Point is, I loved music and I played Slippery When Wet on a loop in my bedroom, on my portable cassette player! Again, if you are under 30 you might want to Google that. I guess it couldn't have been that loud given the equipment available, but it was loud enough for the inevitable:
"TURN THAT RACKET DOWN!!" from my long suffering mother who, couldn't hear Frank Sinatra over Steve Tyler singing about love in an elevator!
When I first moved to Germany I lived, along with the majority, in a flat. Any loud music would often result in a visit from enraged neighbours clutching a printed out version of the German law that forbids, well, fun really. I was in breach of German Quiet Time! And who am I to argue with that?
Two years ago, we moved into our own home. A detached house in it's own grounds with the closest residents far enough away to be spared my eclectic musical tastes. Perfect. At last, time to crank it up. No parents, no neighbours, I lost myself, eyes closed, in the pleasure of loud music and allowed it to wash over me, guilt free.
"Mama, mama, MAMA!"
Rudely shocked into the here and now, I opened my eyes with a start. Finje was standing in the doorway. Hands on hips, I swear she wore an expression which she should not have perfected until at least her 21st birthday!
On auto-pilot I turned down the music. Finje raised her eyes to the ceiling, shook her head and before my very eyes morphed into my own mother.
"Must you have that so loud. I can hear it all the way up in my bedroom!"
After I recovered from this outburst I stuttered that it was my music, my house and I would play it as loudly as I wished. I resisted stamping my foot. And then,
"Doesn't even sound like music mama"
Shoot me now!