1 a.m.
Whenever I dare to poke a fire , or play on the piano , or shut a window , or let a door bang , as any ordinary domestic door is bound to bang in the course of a windy day , rap , rap , rap comes a premonitory knocking on the floor , as if to say , `` Inconsiderate and selfish worm ! How dare you attend to your own comfort at the expense of your neighbours overhead ? Have the goodness to be quiet at once ! '' It 's awfully unfair , because when they stoke their anthracite stoves , or throw their boots on the floor at 1 a.m. over my sleeping head , I could only retaliate by climbing to the top of my wardrobe , and knocking the whitewash off my own ceiling . Such are the ironies of life for the tenants of basement flats . Besides the shoe-dropping , I am often kept awake at night by the sound of angry voices . I sadly fear that Mr and Mrs 19 do not live together in the peace and harmony which could be desired .