This is getting ridiculous. Enough is enough! They were making this hullabaloo since they moved here. The noise, the parties all evening, the flood lights, posh cars driving around. Don’t they know that we can hear all them? No consideration at all. We still have a job to go to in the morning. Not messing around, playing tennis all day. They have a lot of time on their hands. I need to go up there and say my piece. Otherwise I’ll call the police.
So off I went, knocked on their door three times.
Guess who opened the door? Roger Federer, being one of their guests.
“Can I help you?” asked him in a friendly way.
“I was about to talk to Mr. Murray. But since you’re here, can I have your autograph, please?” I’m such a chicken, me.