You could never say night-time is quiet.

It's not the quantity, there's less noise, can't argue there. It's the clarity of what there is that matters: couples arguing, cars passing, night buses drifting by, subterranean rumble of a stereo, the aches and groans of buildings settling, sounds of love-making curling through the night-time air, neighbours closing doors, the stamp of feet on stair cases, mice scuttling through false ceilings. The last I loathe beyond measure.

The bastards have returned; I'm terrified they're going to gnaw through my ceiling.