Me, that is. Not the poor, delicate teenager.
I thought that 11.30 AM was a reasonable time to barge into his bedroom, open the window wide to dilute the high concentration of testosterone in the atmosphere with a healthy mix of drizzly Dublin air.
The Luca begged to differ. Actually, first he begged to stay in bed a bit longer. But he knows that once open wide, the window won't close again anytime soon.
He slowly staggered to the bathroom while muttering some less than flattering things about the tyrant who enforces arbitrary wake-up cutoff times and proceeded to perform a long, noisy, niagaresque wee that put the ageing despot to shame.
Tsk. The yoof. What's not to hate about them...