I did eventually get to sleep, but one thing I know about the flat downstairs is that the person in the back bedroom has stereo speakers with really good bass. And they get up quite early on a Saturday.
It's not that the undergraduates who make up the majority of the people living in this small apartment complex are 24-7 party animals, and they aren't bad kids by any stretch of the imagination. Usually they only really have one night a week when they go a bit crazy, the problem is that it's different nights for each flat. So when downstairs is quiet the flat behind us will suddenly have a girly screaming contest on the balcony, or the boys next to us will, apparently, be practising pro-wrestling moves in their kitchen.
My particular favourite is the kid who cranks up his stereo and starts practising his rapping in his bedroom mirror, complete with really rubbish street hand gestures. Even I know they look stupid, and I am the least street wise person in the western hemisphere.
The problem is that I'm not an undergraduate, so I haven't been out clubbing in ages, I don't hold conversations at the top of my lungs and I don't like drinking until I puke (anymore).
Essentially, and it pains me to say it, I'm too old for this nonsense.