Noisbusters

SOMETIMES it's woofers, at others it's sub-woofers. Jacqui Holbrey and Scott Forbes are the people to call whether it's a barking dog or loud music centre creating a nuisance.

Just don't shout too loudly to attract their attention because they're noisebusters and might take you to court.

Summer Of Noise claims that this summer was one of the noisiest on record but offers scant evidence to support the claim that the British love making a racket.

Jacqui and Scott, who are part of Doncaster Council's noisebusting team, are called to a house in the early hours of the morning after neighbours complain about loud music being played.

It turns out to be a coming out party. Not for some debutante but a jailbird, celebrating getting out of prison two days previously.

Dan has been in and out of jail like someone doing the hokey-cokey - in, out, in, out, shake it all about - since he was 15.

He's clearly having a good time judging by his slurred speech and exuberant behaviour.

He could find himself back inside if he continues to disturb his neighbours and Scott decides to prosecute.

This is a grey area. There's no set limit at which you can play your music at home, it's all down to how it affects your neighbours. If they're hard of hearing, you're on to a winner.

Over in East Anglia, the noise from a music festival has the potential to disturb residents in a nearby village. Last year, there were 30 complaints. The thump-thump-thump of the bass could be heard more than three miles away. The villagers prove a reasonable lot.

"I'm not against music, I'm vice-chairman of the organ club of Great Yarmouth," says one.

Festival organisers have the answer to complaints.

They employ a noise expert who has special gizmos that automatically limit the volume, so it doesn't get too noisy.

Back in Doncaster, a 77-year-old man invites Jacqui and Scott to listen to the loud sounds from his neighbours coming through the wall. The F word features frequently, as we can hear only too well. The level of noise makes prosecution inevitable.

The noisebusters have the power to seize the offending sound source. This spells disaster for computer musician Terry, who has his machine seized and sees his livelihood disappearing through the door.

THE noise levels in Brat Camp: Mums And Daughters are totally unacceptable once 14-year-old, out-ofcontrol teenager Chloe gets going. Her ALL IN A DAY'S WORK: Jacqui Holbrey and Scott Forbes from Doncaster Council investigate noise complaints mother Helen says she's "created a monster" and I wouldn't disagree with her. Chloe smokes, binge drinks and takes drugs. She lost her virginity at 12, popped her first pill a year later and reels off a long list of drugs she takes now. "So what? I die a bit younger. I don't give a f***," she says defiantly.

Mother and daughter are packed off to Arizona to an Anasazi Foundation wilderness course to mend their broken relationship.

The treatment is based on Native American teachings. Counsellors are called trailwalkers, talk about negative behaviour and have names like Coylou.

The pair are separated for the first two weeks as they hike in the desert. While old hippy Helen takes to the outdoor life, daughter Chloe behaves like the brat she is. Mind you, I'd be bad-tempered if I was woken early in the morning by someone playing the recorder and told to eat my breakfast oatmeal with a bit of wood.

Chloe's rages give way to despair as she goes cold turkey. But she's a clever girl who works out that if she appears to be improving, she stands a chance of being sent home.

How satisfying when her manipulative behaviour is exposed and Helen decides her daughter should stay longer in the wilderness.

"I hate you, you should die in hell," she screams violently, clinging to her mother as the trailwalkers try to take her away.

After 56 days in wilderness, Chloe is telling us how good life is without drugs and just the natural high of life. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she giggles. Neither can I.