Code RAAAAAAAGHRRRGHHHR

This, readers, is the face of someone kept awake until 6am this morning. I am angry

The cause? A drunken tide of human flotsam, thoughtfully washed down my street by some festival or other. It was only as the sun rose that it finally receded, leaving but a knee-high heap of empty cans and bodily fluids in its wake.

I'm fully aware such naysayery outs me as the worst kind of boring middle-aged white person. That my plaintive whinging sounds like Sam Smith crossed with all four of my grandparents, in Surrey. Oh god. I'm a misjudged hip-hop obsession away from running for the leader of the Labour Party.

You think I want to be this way? You think I enjoy being so averse to the idea of youths having fun on a Sunday night??? Of course I don't. It's just an unfortunate side effect of having to listen to someone throw up outside your bedroom window for TWO SOLID HOURS.

raaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhrraaaaaaaghhhhr

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to take my fury out on the pot of blueberry jam I spotted in a cupboard earlier. YES I KNOW HOW THAT SOUNDS.