Hello neighbour from hell, may I help renovate your house?
Strap your seatbelts, this will be Odyssey long one. First thing first, let me take some time to introduce you to Cruella de Vil of this story, who I hated for many years with a fury of a thousand raging diarrheas. You know that joke if you had a gun with two bullets and you were in a room with Hitler, Bin Laden, and x-person, you would shoot x-person twice? Well, not only would I shoot her, I would proceed to beat her with gunstock, perform exorcism on her lifeless body (just in case) and then burry the remains. She is stereotypical neighbour from hell. And hell is in this case the Mediterranean.
I live in a medium sized Mediterranean town with ancient heritage; all the houses are old and jammed close to each other. My neighbourhood is also made of these stone houses which share walls, so for instance when my neighbour to the right plays guitar in his bedroom, I hear it in my living room (I don’t mind him though, he is always really quiet, respects the hours and plays Rolling Stones and Metallica really well) and when I fart in my toilet, Cruella on the left side hears it clearly. Suits her well.