In case anyone doesn't know, Archie is dead and Stacey did it. I imagine by this time the whole world has heard about that. Another thing everyone has probably already heard is that I don't like soap operas. That surreal glitziness of working class Coronation Street, that farcical drama and tragedy of rural life in Yorkshire, that irredeemably dystopic world of Albert Square. Those claustrophobic virtual worlds might be wonderful to some people, but seriously, I really don't care what happens. Why would I need a soap opera when I have one all of my own?

Take this morning for instance. The image of Sunday mornings is one of placid calm after the joyful merrymaking of the night before. Not where I live. One of my neighbours decided to socialise noisily, thankfully without loud music, finally subsiding from his raucous observances on life, the universe, and everything by around six o'clock this morning.

An hour later he had a quick and very loud argument with his mate who had by that time sobered up enough to realise his girlfriend was in the next room, an event he repeated again with his new girlfriend an hour after that accompanied with much banging of furniture. Are we there yet?

Bad Boy

On my travels this morning I saw the young man crossing a busy main road seemingly without a care in the world, oblivious to traffic, absorbed by the ephemera on his mobile phone. He just strolled across. One car passed him a little closer than he wanted and he gave it a hard stare. Ah. A young man with attitude.

He was entering the same side street as me, on the other side, and didn't like the proximity of another car heading for the junction. With sullen temperament he gave the vehicle an indifferent kick. A dull hollow thud that didn't do any appreciable damage. Not suprifingly the driver got to to remonstrate with the youngster. It was a brave effort, but the driver wasn't giving off the demeanour of danger despite his irate manner, whereas the young man took offence at being told off. Gradually he got more and more aggressive, clearly spoiling for a fight, his hands starting to flex and form fists.

The driver realised he was getting into a violent situation. He could hadly fail to with the youngster staring into his face and telling him he was going to... well... spoil things for him somewhat, to be polite. Personally I think the reason the young man was so bad tempered was because no-one would fight him.

Maybe my next door neighbour could help? Just a thought.