A few minutes ago, I was eating a pretty bad-ass bacon sandwich. Two rashers of fried back bacon, two slices of gouda cheese, a splash of worcestershire sauce and Hovis best of both bread. I sat down to watch How I Met Your Mother (I’m on a marathon, one episode away from the end of the first season), took a bite of my sandwich and glanced to the window.

Right there in front of the door leading to the terrace of my flat was a kid in a Sons Of Admirals shirt. Staring at me. He ducked down. I kept looking. He slowly lifted himself up again, a cameraphone clutched between his hands. Stood there for a couple seconds, staring between the phone and me. Then ducked down again. Then spent a while walking past the communal area outside my window and pretending not to look inside. Then he somehow got past our intercom system and spent close to fifteen minutes knocking on our front door before finally leaving.

Just imagine for a second how creeped out you would be if that happened to you. I’m sure the kid didn’t mean any harm, but that’s not the point. If someone walked past outside your window, saw you, took a picture, then knocked on your front door. If I hadn’t noticed the shirt, I’d have had no idea what was going on and it would have shaken me up a lot more than it has already.

The general rule should surely be the same as any interaction between strangers: saying hello in public is fine, staring at me through my window is not. I can’t believe I even have to spell this out. The zoo hasn’t opened up a YouTube exhibit for your entertainment. This is my home.