When noisome objections to noises annoy

I'M not sure what it's like in other Australian cities, but where I live we're being monitored by the Fun Police.

I'M not sure what it's like in other Australian cities, but where I live we're being monitored by the Fun Police, a battalion of clipboard-carrying officials from the City of Sydney Council.

The city has been spruiked by Lord Mayor Clover Moore as "A City of Villages" in an attempt to mimic Melbourne's small-bar, laneway culture. As a consequence, one venue, LL, opened two years ago in Kings Cross in what was known locally as "Junkie Alley". The owners added a red-fenced, outdoor space with umbrellas and served fusion Asian matched with wines. In a matter of months the laneway was transformed from a dirty and dangerous thoroughfare into an urban oasis.

So, of course, last week the council issued a notice for the bar to close its outdoor area by 8pm and the indoor area by 10. No doubt, the local smack addicts had complained about having nowhere to shoot up late at night.

A few weeks ago I noticed council workers putting up signs on telegraph poles, alerting residents to a phone number they could call if they were inconvenienced by excessive noise. No, this wasn't in the outer suburbs or in the leafy northern beaches, but on the main street of the Cross, where on the weekends up to 20,000 revellers arrive to drink, and dance and puke.

I was tempted to call the number myself when, at 8am on a Sunday I was rudely awakened by the sound of AC/DC blaring through loudspeakers. Mind you, this wasn't the result of an all-night party thrown by some drugged-up neighbour but of the council's thoughtful decision to entertain joggers.

Yes, as thousands of people puffed up William Street on the City to Surf run, all I could hear from my bed for the next two hours was Bon Scott yelling, Highwaaaay to hell! and other dulcet tunes from the Australian Songbook of Heavy Metal.

Fed up with the state-sanctioned racket, I later left the apartment and walked down to my local pub, in Wolloomooloo, where my dogs and I like to sit outside in the sun.

But as we rounded the last corner, we were shocked to see that the outdoor tables and chairs had vanished and that my friends were now sitting on the footpath instead. No, the furniture hadn't been stolen, and the hotel hadn't closed down. A renter four doors up from the pub had complained to the council about the noise.