Last night's apprehensions that I'd be kept awake by the carousing kiwis next door came to naught; I slept like a top and woke up bouncing, they clearly slept, but bounced awake? No, I'd say no.

The drunker you are, the deeper the trough the following morning, so saith Doctor Archimedes.

But I know simply from experience that I'll not have been alone fretting about the hullabooloo that the first faint of breath of barbeque smoke seems to evoke. Across London, across the South-east, it'll have been the same.

This mad, crazy, complicated city state that I live in and love immeasurably has a toll to pay sometimes. I accept it. I could n't live anywhere else.