This morning, at 06:00, our upstairs neighbour's clock radio started blaring a very weird kind of electronica. I couldn't get my head around it. Apart from the fact that it makes me sick with anger, and he's not opening the door, there's another fact in the matter:

He's probably on vacation now.

Mikaela popped up for words with him, and as usual, he wouldn't open. What was unusual, though, was that his mail was piled up right under his letter-opener. Either the old man's keeled over, he's on vacation, or he's behaving extra deafly. We'll just have to see, but Mikaela wrote him a letter. Grphml...and now I can't go back to sleep.