Lord H of A lives in the room next to me. To all external purposes he is a calm quiet man, low of voice and industrious of action. He is a squat fellow, rotund with an enormous stomach, usually hidden beneath billowing local clothing.
Our rooms are separated by a brick built wall, of around 4″of thickness, however there is also an adjoining door, thus reducing the noise barrier.
Outwith his lair, Lord H of A is genteel, always to be seen busying about doing important things. However, once he retreats into his den he becomes another person entirely.
It is scarcely credible to believe that a single human being could make such noises, they truly do belong on the banks of the Limpopo river. Sound emanates from that cave that defy identification. They clearly come from every single orifice he possesses, but are of a pitch and tone that make me wonder as to his origins.
La Petomaine had nothing on Lord H of A.
Luckily for me, he is off on his holidays very soon, so I shall be given a fortnight’s grace before his bovine ruminations recommence.