When enough is enough

At five o' clock this morning I called the police to the party whose music - or at least, the percussion part of whose music, that being what travels - I had been hearing all night.

I wish I could have expressed myself with as much elegance and vitriol as the friend - the last permanent resident in his street and normally extremely tolerant of his student neighbours, who had tweeted at 10.30:

To those male Durham students currently singing rugby songs in my street: this is why Oxbridge rejected you, why nobody except the other ---- likes you, and why you will die unloved after a lonely, divorced old age.
(My redaction)

So I wasn't feeling my brightest this morning when I sat down at my computer, and realised that those scuffling noises were not, as I thought at first, pigeons skidding about on the attic roof, but a very disgruntled bird which had somehow managed to get inside and trap itself in the space between my desk and the wall. durham_rambler had to be dragged away from the livestream of the County Council's cabinet meeting to open the Velus window immediately above it...

This is enough excitement for this week - and no, nowhere near ready to set off for Lindisfarne on Friday.