THE dreaded drunken louts have made their first, of many, appearances in our street.

Congregating in one garden until all hours of the night and showing off their lack of singing skills.

The loudness of their voices somehow linked to the lateness of the hour.

And when they run out of things to say and sing, they treat the whole street to their record collection.

The nightly performance ends with the ritual slamming of the doors.

Yes, summer is truly upon us.

J.Smith

(address supplied)