Robbie Williams has lived in Los Angeles for several years; more than once, he’s said he appreciates escaping the glare of publicity he receives in the UK and vanishing into obscurity. (Although lately he’s been doing a pretty good job of vanishing into obscurity back home as well.) Needless to say, then, Robbie was less than pleased to learn that noted fame-whore Paris Hilton had bought a house just a few doors down the street from his own. He was even less pleased to learn that Paris was setting up a private dance club in the basement. Now, instead of driving all the way to Hyde when she wants to make a drunken public spectacle of herelf, all she’ll have to do is stumble down the stairs. “If the late-night high-jinks start disturbing Robbie, he’ll be furious,” according to one anonymous source. But the source didn’t stop there:

Robbie sped past her the other day in a chauffeur-driven car and completely ignored her. He hasn’t got any time for her and would rather they didn’t have any contact with each other.

Plenty of celebrities complain about noisy, disruptive neighbors like Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears, but not many carry it over into straightforward contempt. I’ve never been a big fan of Take That or Robbie’s solo work, but this anti-Paris attitude is making me listen to Robbie Williams’ music from a whole new perspective. Nothing forges a bond between an artist and his fans like a shared loathing.