Get thee behind me, teenage drunken drama students. You are the spawn of the Devil and you will be first against the wall come the Revolution. Actually, fuck that, the wall is too good for you. You will be summarily drowned in casks of cheap and vinegary white wine. Except for those special few who have really annoyed me, and you will be forced to listen to Country music until your brain seeps out your ears. Hah!

They have earned my righteous wrath by being obnoxious little twits. I mean, I understand that the adrenaline high that you get on when you finish a performance. DOUG knows I've experienced it often enough myself. But that's no reason to leap around making noise and generally being fuckwits until the sodding hour of 3am, at which point the poor frazzled duty-girl calls me up to help her out because three girls are annoyed at being told to shut the fuck up and are stalking her.

Never underestimate the menace I can summon when woken in the wee hours of the morning. Nor the impact of being told off by someone who actually knows your name (since I checked them all in and most of them are highly memorable). Nor how willing I am to flay the life out of you if you backchat me at aforementioned hour and in those circumstances.

You don't pull that sort of shit on me, bitch.

But now they've gone, praise be to Allah. Sod off, you little twerps, and if you never come back, I won't be sorry.