It's sometime past two in the morning (as I later discovered), and I've just succeeded in thwarting my poor sleeping pattern and fallen asleep. Enter Andrew. Andrew in a slightly tight shirt made of some sheer material, Andrew holding a tennis racket. Andrew (as well as a couple of my other flatmates) has just been out for a few drinks - which I elected to forgo as I decided I'd be on time for my early class for a change - and is now in my room at two in the morning with a tennis racket.

"Get up" he says moreorless, and explains why I must do so. I grope for a shirt and he mentions that I might want to put on some trousers. "Don't Worry (sarcastic and unamused), I've got these great old shorts, but for the sycophant on the go trousers can easily be pulled on."

Dressed I proceed to verbally abuse him, pointing out my early class, "Yeah, well you still love me". "It's the eyes", is the darkly muttered reply.

Out on the street now, Andrew has me following him (barefoot I might add - attempting and mostly succeeding in avoiding broken glass) in search of some guys who were hassling him while he ate a pie - I'll spare you his racist slur. They're not there. Not even a sign of the van he was sure they were dealing drugs from.

I curse him impotently and head back, pointing out that it was a stupid idea to come back out (even if it was with a tennis racket) to look for guys he was afraid were going to beat him up, even worse to bring someone along who could at best distract them momentarily.

It takes an hour or so to get to sleep, I miss a bus and I'm forced to run to catch one that will get me there late. Bastard.

DyRE says "thanks. your flatmate sounds like a brave tennis racket warrior."