There’s a reason sleep deprivation is used as torture.

I was woken by my antisocial neighbours at 2:30am this morning. There’s an epic saga about their behaviour, stretching back months. It involve parties, throwing stuff off their balcony (on the 37th floor, no less) and abandoning their rubbish where they like.

Suffice to say, they are two floors above, and we can still hear their music when they decide to have a Tuesday night party (as you do).

They’re students. Students whose wealthy parents have pre-paid a year of rent for them to live in one of Canary Wharf’s most expensive buildings. I don’t think they’ve ever been told no in their lives. The act like royalty, treating everyone around them like serfs. The word ‘consequences’ doesn’t appear in their lexicon.

We’ve had months of their mid-week bullshit, with multiple complaints, getting the council noise complaints team involved as well as the building’s management company. They don’t seem to have any sense of community or, as I like to call it, not being a complete over-entitled, selfish little shit.

And so…I find myself suffering from only getting about four hours of sleep last night. It’s tortuous alright. And is almost certainly going to be followed by another night of interrupted sleep. Either they’ll kick off again, (they seldom only party once per week) or my anxiety about getting a good night’s sleep will prevent me from nodding off.

I’ll be having a carb-heavy dinner, a hot bath and some white noise in the bedroom. All of which help, to varying degrees. But what would really help is for my neighbours to either grow up, or just fuck off.