I was just celebrating the start of a new day by labouriously sexually assaulting myself to a rather pleasing collection of images which I inadvertently bumped into on
www.donkeylove.com, when a rogue gust of wind caused my curtain to move and expose my room and its entire carnal contents.
The young couple next door, whose bedroom is parallel to mine, bore witness to at least half a dozen strokes, as she cleaned down the mosquito nets* and he stood by conjuring plans for how they might spend a savoury weekend at a remote vineyard or the dishevelled ruins of a Sukhothai period temple.
* The mosquito nets may have actually shielded the frenzy as I have them in my room too, but I think the pragmatic way to tackle this situation would be to march round to their place, bang on the door and accuse them of spying on me, and so much as a whiff of this to the other neighbours will result in a phone call to the cops.