Middle Class Problems: I've reached breaking point with next door's loft conversion

Every morning Daisy Stenham revisits the same caffeinated rant – howling about the constant banging, the builders shouting, the tornado of dust and the 8am starts – to whoever will listen

(Corbis)

Nothing quite upsets your domestic zen like the news that next door is undergoing a loft conversion. Up goes the scaffolding, giving their Victorian townhouse the impression that it's wearing braces. Next, a guilt-ridden notecard is posted through your door, bearing "Apologies in advance for any disturbance".

"How exciting," you lie, on bumping into the perpetrators post-dog walk. "When will it be done?" you ask gingerly, desperately trying to conceal the anger thickening in your throat. Little do they know, but every morning you revisit the same caffeinated rant – howling about the constant banging, the builders shouting, the tornado of dust and the 8am starts – to whoever will listen.

Two weeks of drilling and hammering later, and you've reached breaking point. "I can't live like this!" you wail, occasionally pausing to ask, "You don't think they can hear us, do you?" You find yourself staring through the bay window at the scaffolding, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, blood pressure rising with each new bang.

As time goes on, you realise that you talk about next-door's loft conversion more than anything else. You follow its progress scrupulously, listening over the fence, staring from across the road, mining for information on its completion like a one-man espionage unit.

Actually, it's turned out to be quite bonding at home to have a common enemy to rail against. What will you talk about when it's over? Maybe you should think about extending your own loft…