A month or so ago I was infuriated by a party on a neighbour's balcony at 1am. Noisy teenagers enjoying themselves - I mean, for crying out loud. I was under the impression that GenZ is a group of insular monastic teens who can't look people in the eye and spend all their time making friends with glamorous looking people online who pose in enigmatic selfies staring at the sun enigmatically in very tight bikini bottoms and who are all probably men in their sixties.
They don't drink, don't have fun in 3 dimensions and don't make noise at night.
At least, that was what I thought. So I was quite irritated to have my mental map torn up that night and went onto my balcony, shouting and raving at them like a mad man.
They ignored me.
So I complained to the Board of our estate and they sent a chiding note to the flat in question, whereupon it transpired that the parents had been away that evening, leaving the place in the custody of their teenage son.
Unfortunately I missed the delivery of the bottle of rose prosecco from the chastened son - he gave it to our nanny. I would have loved to have received it and declared 'ha! you lose, I am the winner!' in his face.
Next time.
But you’re not drinking