A couple of evenings ago I watched Donal MacIntyre’s new series on C5, which examines the day-to-day business of ‘notorious criminals’. The first in the series was on Geordie thug Paddy Conroy, a man with serious anger management issues. Conroy was sentenced to eleven years for his part in the kidnapping and torture of a fellow crim who was alleged to have desecrated the Conroy plot in the local cemetery. The unfortunate fellow had his teeth removed with a pair of pliers, although Conroy denied the dental work was his own, only admitting to “dropping off” the patient at the spot where he just happened to have the emergency dental work performed. However, Conroy rather undermined his case by attacking a prosecuting lawyer in court and being dragged out by four screws, and was found guilty. Towards the end of the show Conroy went off on a terrifying four-minute rant against his perceived enemies, which culminated in him shouting “put that in ya fookin’ documentary!” An angry, angry man…

However, now and again there’s nothing more therapeutic than a bloody good shout at someone who deserves it, and there’s no-one more deserving in my life than the Spanish guy who lives in the flat beneath me. M’laddo DJs in his spare time and was practicing today. On my day off. Which I’d informed him, yesterday, today was. When I was asking him to turn his music down.

I hadn’t gone down with the intent of bawling him out, but had taken out my nosestud before knocking on his door, so at least part of me was ready for an escalation. It must have gone on for about ten minutes, and I noted there was someone else in the flat who claims not to speak English. However, just like when you’re abroad, say it loud enough and eventually they’ll understand.

I also discovered something beneficial about having a degree in psychology. At one point he said “I never had these problems when I was in a squat for two years (Me: “You’re not living in a fookin’ squat now though, are you!”). You did psychology: maybe you should look into your character and wonder why you keep complaining”. If there was blue touch paper around, it was most certainly lit at that point, as my own inner Paddy Conroy emerged through a tirade which went something like “yes, I have a fookin’ psychology degree, so excuse me if I don’t take your fookin’ amateur analysis seriously. Have you noticed I tend to knock on your door whenever you play loud music? Do you think the music might be the fookin’ trigger?”

I think that was my way of arguing that environmental factors were the key influence rather than genetics.

Anyhow, I now have a very peaceful flat and a sense of serenity within me. And the owners of the house are going to bollock him tomorrow.

Put that in ya fookin’ DJ set!