Exit, pursued by.

I got home at about 10.30 last night from dropping The Pups at the airport - after our first failed attempt to get her on her flight - only to find that the ferals next door were blasting music in their back yard. I went round to their side gate to ask them to pipe down, which, to their credit, they did.

I staggered inside and went to bed only to be jolted awake at 1am by loud feral conversation drifting over from the back yard. After lying there for a while getting more and more enraged I finally decided to get up and, once again, ask them to keep things down to a dull roar. It turns out they were somewhat resistant to the idea that conversation in the dead of night could be classified as 'noisy' or 'intrusive' and as I endeavoured to make them see the error of their ways I was fighting hard to keep the 'nagging harridan' element out of my voice.

Then a male voice interrupted me, mid-rant.

"Excuse me, excuse me," he said. "Do you know you're hot?"

"What did you say??"

"I just had to let you know that I think you're hot."

"I couldn't give a stuff what you think: JUST SHUT UP!"

And with that I walked off. If it's not old men, it's ferals. If things don't improve soon I'm getting me to a nunnery. It's lights out there at, like, 9pm. And no one listens to techno, I'll bet.