Georgiou Group Night works in clear contravention to the Government's Code of Practice.
I am doing the best I can to get some sleep. I am going like a maniac all day and trying to avoid that Nanna nap time in my lounge chair after lunch, although for full disclosure some days I am not all that successful in this. I watch banal bullshit on the tellie and then take myself off to bed at about 10pm. I try not to get caught up in what little bit of appalling shit is going on out in the street. Really I am doing the very best I can.
But last night, again the noise woke me at 3am!
There was simply no sleeping through it once it had disturbed me, so I got up threw on some clothes, and went out to collect readings and take a couple of piccies.
A big problem with the noise is that GEORGIOU GROUP seem to be unwilling to instruct their workers to adhere to the Code of Practice. They all know the work is far too loud to be carried out at night, but hey just don't give a shit. And they sooooo don't give a shit that even turning off idling engines is too much to ask.
The blonde in the skinny jeans is not happy that I am there.
At 3 am the front end loader, not in use, just parked up, is idling away at between 70 and 80 decibels.
I cross the road and the workers all stop using the pounding trench thing. I watch quiet investigation of soil core sampling, all the while the tip truck is idling away at about 75 decibels.
Just in case the blonde skinny jeans girl is unaware, I tell her of the idle sound level out put and suggest that it be turned off while not in use, out of deference to the residents. Hostile does not begin to describe the wrathful look I earned for that.
I crossed back to my street and again the work pulled to a stop. One bloke even got his little esky out of the back of a truck and had a little sit down. Ah Bless, I suppose he was a weary.
The roll on compactor machine launched itself across the main road and began to pound out on the refilled trench, 5 metres worth maybe - no I didn't measure it, or even step it out cos that would have required entering their work zone and that's a great big NO NO.
Blonde Skinny Jeans is still there with me, her in her zone and me on a public footpath. I tell her the output of sound from the compactor is more than 100 decibels.
Did I mention this is at 3.30AM ?
I had my readings but I wanted a photo of the machine. It was tooing and froing towards me and it's lights prohibited a good shot, so I crossed onto the middle of a round about, and this is when Blonde Skinny Jeans went off. She told me, in what capacity was never made clear, to get off the road. I was standing in the middle of a round about. I told her I wanted a photo, and that I wasn't on the road in any case.
When I had my pic, I moved to the other side of the road on the public footpath, well away from the precious work zone.
Little did I know, but Blonde Skinny Jeans had scurried off and called the police.
I was not and had not been breaking any laws, and I thought perhaps this time they would do something to ensure that these workers complied to the Code of Practice.
It's now 3.45am
I was harangued and told to go home. There were 2 male coppers. I reckon they were playing 'Good Cop - Bad Cop'
Bad Cop was unhappy that I was not intimidated by him, that I would not do as I was told, that I continued to say that I was well within my democratic civil rights to stand on the footpath.
I told Bad Cop that I would not go back onto the round about as this seemed to be the sticking point.
He said that he didn't believe me.
Now that's just RUDE. He doesn't know me, he has no evidence that I am a lying toe rag, but because of his arbitrary decision to label me as a big fat liar liar pants on fire, he figured he had the right to tell me to go home.
He threatened to arrest me. I said arrest me. We went back and forth like a child on a swing, until I walked to the police car and said something like, let's get on with it.
For full disclosure, I should say that anyone with mobility issues aught ask to sit in the front seat of the cop car, cos there sure ain't much room in the back. In the end I had to lie across the seat a la Cleopatra in the grapes eating scene, cos my knees, just wouldn't bend well enough to fit the space.
They spoke to someone, more senior I suppose, and decided to deliver me home - 50 metres down the road. They had to deliver me to someone, like a parcel from TNT. Bad Cop pushed on the buzzer...brave man, getting Stevie up at 4 am to take delivery of his woman like she was an unordered pizza.
They UN-ARRESTED me. Yeh that's what they called it.
It felt like harassment to me.
Next time I have asked Stevie to refuse to sign for the delivery.
Next time I should be able to cross going to the klink off my bucket list.