You may recall some time ago, I told you about my next door neighbours, who I had the unhappy fortune to share a bedroom wall with. Unhappy, because the bedroom, and the associated antics thereof, were all I'd ever hear from them - screaming, moaning, panting and (God, eventually) climaxing at all hours of the late night/early morning.

Well, I haven't heard a dickie bird out of them in months, which hopefully means they've moved out and are disturbing someone else with their rutting. So, for a good few months, my nights have been peaceful, my slumber uninterrupted, my nerves no longer poised on the brink of a spectacular hissy fit.

"Bah!" thought my downstairs neighbours. "We'll soon put a stop to that."

Now, I have met my downstairs neighbours a few times, mostly over glasses of spirits so strong they could strip paint (he's Russian and can cope with these things). His girlfriend, who moved in not long ago, when they hadn't even been together that long, is quite a nice girl, quite loud and chatty and outgoing, but always very friendly. But, unless they have one of those tempestuous relationships that works perfectly for them, while the rest of the world looks on, baffled ... it's quite a volatile relationship.

Take, for instance, a row they had not long ago, late at night. I don't know where I was that night, but obviously somewhere else. My flatmate heard them. My flatmate, let me explain, sleeps in the converted attic room of our house. My neighbours are on the ground floor, at the back of the house. That's how loud they were.

Anyway, as Facebook would seem to have it, they 'ended their relationship' this week. With her away for a couple of weeks, he consoled himself on Wednesday night, by inviting people round and playing incredibly loud, floor-shaking music at 11pm. I've had a raging cold for the last week, and desperately wanted a good night's sleep, so as you might imagine, I wasn't especially on board with the whole loud music thing. So I let my displeasure be known, with a few whacks on the floor (their ceiling). And was duly rewarded with the music being turned up.

Ohhh-kaaaaaaaay.

Last night though - or should I say 'this morning' - she was back, and clearly decided that ONE. THIRTY. IN. THE. SODDING MORNING was a perfectly reasonable hour to celebrate the end of their relationship with the kind of screaming match even the Jeremy Kyle show wouldn't deem fit for broadcast.

Yelling, screaming, shouting, things slamming, things being thrown, slammed.... you name it. At - have I mentioned this? - nearly two o'clock in the morning.

This must have gone on for nearly an hour. Craig and I lay there in bed, ears pricked up, trying to work out what it was all about (well, we certainly couldn't go to sleep, so we had to do something). Somehow, though, the noise died down and we eventually got .... oooh ....five hours' sleep? Not exactly what my battered immune system and my increasingly frayed nerves were crying out for.

This morning, it was eerily quiet, so I assume peace once more reigns supreme, or they've gone their separate ways. That, or they've killed each other. Either way though, there had better be peace and quiet tonight. I'm going out for drinks with a friend, and when I get home, I shall be ten sheets to the wind, and not responsible for my actions.