Breakfast the Seventy-Ninth

Doppelganger shreddies and Honey & Oats Special K.

I'm slightly less annoyed at the noisy students in the courtyard now that they're playing Yann Teirsen. Never-the-less, it is a school night. And while I may be nocturnal, I'm pretty sure that most of the people in this block are not.

My flatmates and I were much more considerate of poor working-types when we were students. Though that didn't stop a downstairs neighbour calling the council mediators in because she felt genuinely aggreived by the sound of my flatmate's money falling out of her back-pocket when she took her trousers off at night time. (I kid you not, this really was her complaint.)

She also objected to the sound of our footsteps. (We had wooden floors, rather than sound muffling wall-to-wall shagpile.) I remember the mediators asking if we thought there was anything we could do to be a bit quieter... The moneybags flatmate promised to take her change out of her back pocket before removing her trousers, and the rest of us resolved to learn how to fly -- and failing that, to stop wearing shoes.