At 7am this morning, after a particularly restless night, I wrenched myself out of bed. Scowling, I pulled my coat over my jimjams, yanked on my Uggs, wrestled with my warped front gate and set off in a seemingly simple mission to buy milk and a newspaper.

I was jolted out of my zombie state however, when I found my morning routine rudely obstructed by what looked like, through my blurred, sleep sodden eyes, a lusty two-headed monster.

On further inspection, the mythological creature turned out to be a twenty-something couple overwhelmed by passion, in the midst of a full tongue sarnie on MY doorstep. If I'd had my breakfast, it would have undoubtedly reappeared.

It's not that I'm unromantic. I am partial to a chick flick, enjoy a candlelit dinner and evenings whispering sweet nothings. Sucking face in public however, whether at an eye-poppingly early hour or even post watershed, is NOT romantic.

No-one enjoys listening to the slurping salivary noises of your kissy wissies, it's not cute and no-one is swooning over the love bubble you have created – we just want to burst it.

There is a time and a place for affection and, to all of you bursting to snog and fumble in my path, just remember how much more exciting it would be if you kept the passion bubbling inside, building anticipation until you fell into a more private nook.

Otherwise, if you like being the subject of voyeurism, check your newspaper's small ads, there are car parks for people like you, you know.