Day 103. 76 pages, 33,838 words. Gaah, I got into writing this instead of the book, send help.

Now, I’m not one of those neighbours who complains a lot about things. In fact, I suppose it’s fair to say that Creepy and I are often the cause of complaints in others, but the truth is that – for the most part – we just don’t have that sort of neighbourhood. We don’t call the police to report loud parties or raised voices. We don’t want the authorities involved, generally speaking.

Sometimes, in extreme circumstances, we take matters into our own hands and make the neighbourhood a safer and quieter place for everyone. That may involve some noise – or, in the case of Drackenstein, quite a lot of noise and a certain amount of housal collapsage – but more often than not we all just pull together and mind our own damn business.

But it was almost nine in the morning and I was getting ready for bed after a long night of building in the garage, and … well, one does not cower and huddle when Barbarians get rowdy. That only encourages them and perpetuates the cycle of Barbarian-Townsfolk contempt. Not that I’d recommend actually explaining it to them in those terms, but you get the idea.

I kilted up, booted up, sunglassed up, tucked a pen and a piece of equipment I thought would come in handy into my jacket pocket, straightened my hat and marched right over there, just like our parents always encourage us to do with murderously intimidating things.

This, I remain convinced to this day, is because parents hate their children.