I'm being noise-stalked

I am being followed. Everywhere I seem to be now, music follows me. Not in a good way - this is not in an Ally McBeal style personal-theme-song manner, but in a bad noisy neighbours with don't give-a-shit attitude way. It happens most nights in my cosy flat. Sometimes the traffic noise drwons it out, which is bizarrely reassuring. Sometimes its not music, but yelling (apparently our feral (not in a good hippy way but in a mangy escaped domestic cat the size of a small pig way) boy neighbour upstairs is one of those curiously old-fashioned types who compensates for the physical distance of the caller by screaming down the phone line. I though only retired country farmers did that), last night it was TV with canned laughter. Just when I'd had enough, and was about to don stern deranged-housewife dressing gown, it stopped. Blessed be. I rolled over, snuggled in and, they started whooping it up in the bedroom. Must of been some saucy canned laugh-track comedy. Luckily, they lacked stamina or imagination or both and it ceased wonderfully quickly. Now I'm at uni - lulled by the hum of industrial strength air-conditioning, until the wonk next door arrives and pops on commercial radio at a strength loud enough to penetrate the admitedly rather flimsy fibro partition-walls. sigh. I'm not even 30 and all I want is peace and quiet. I'm assailed by other people's noise. It must be time to move to burbs.