Hidden cost of inebriation

We live just beyond the pedestrian bridge, on the right side of the photo. It's a quiet, one-way street that is for residents only (especially hilarious when people get £40-60 tickets for driving on it - schadenfreude, baby). But 'quiet' is relative.

I'm not sure what it is that compels drunken Scots (and Poles, and English, and Spaniards - those are the only accents that have woken me up) to leave the bars and clubs and shout, scream, and sing as soon as they see the river. Wow! Look, a river! I must scream! At three in the morning!

Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays - okay, I kind of get that, they're big 'must get drunk' nights here in the UK. But Sundays through Wednesdays? What do you people do for a living that allows you to holler and scream and shout at 2am on a weeknight?!

It is good people-watching, and sometimes vaguely amusing. But other times, it's not - like when a woman tried to climb over the 4'-tall fence and toss herself into the river while yelling reasons why she should kill herself as a guy tried to pull her off the fence. Or when a man started smacking his girl around, screaming nasty words at her. Or last night, when a guy stood at the river shouting obscenities into his phone for nearly 20 minutes. Then, I'm reminded how much alcohol can turn people into monsters.

I'm glad I've got headphones and sleep apps on my iPhone.

Shut up, people. Respect residential neighborhoods.