Noel - and No Sleep!

I have been more than a little tired today. It was the office Christmas party last night. Not mine, you understand. I work for myself and so my festive bash is held in a phone box. No, it was my soon-to-be ex-wife's annual thrash. She went while I, obviously, didn't. Why then am I tired? Let me explain.
I was awoken at 4.05am when the dogs started going crazy, running around and barking. I leapt out of bed, thinking there might be an intruder, and then heard a strange noise. Tap, tap, scratch, tap, scratch, scratch, tap. I went downstairs and discovered the noise was coming from the other side of the front door. I tentatively opened the door to find the remnants of my STB EW, sporting a pair of flashing, red, plastic reindeer antlers, and trying womanfully to get her car key in the front door lock. "Would you pay the taxi?" she said as she stumbled past me. "I'm skint." Great! I went to get cash and then wandered outside in my dressing gown to pay the driver, pausing only briefly to wave cheerily and say "morning!" to my next door neighbour who was squinting out into the darkness through his bedroom curtains to see what all the row was about.
Back inside Pither Towers I dragged myself wearily back up to bed, only to be followed upstairs by STB EW who was slurring on about what she had been up to that evening. "The taxi driver was really interesting," she belched. "He's from Kurdistan." "Couldn't you get a local company?" I asked, hoping it would throw her into confusion and hence silence. "No, no, I mean he was really interesting. You should do a story on him." "Yeah, ok," I said. "'Interesting illegal immigrants I have known.' Do you mind if I start work on it in about eight hours, only it's still the middle of the flipping night here on planet earth?"
I hauled myself back into bed, turned out the light and rolled over, hoping to knock out a few Zs before the alarm went off. No such luck. STB EW had followed me into the bedroom and, in the pitch darkness, continued chuntering on and on. I could hear her disembodied voice but all I could see was a pair of flashing red antlers - a surreal experience. "I've got an idea," I yawned. "Why don't you go downstairs and jot down on a piece of paper all the things you want to tell me and then, when I'm dead, you can toss it in the grave and I'll read it in Hell?" "You never want to talk," she snapped, stumbling out of the bedroom in the darkness, still flashing. "If we were wombats I would willingly listen, dear, but not being nocturnal by nature I'm finding it difficult to concentrate," I said, in an effort to stave off a row.
STB EW proceeded to half fall down the stairs and then put the radio on to listen to the Ashes Test match. Sadly, the more people drink, the more their ears close up and so she had it on at almost full blast! I think I managed another half an hour of kip but then gave in and shambled downstairs, just in time to pass her on the stairs going up to bed. "Night," she slurred.
The last I saw of her was when she stumbled into the bedroom, accidentally slamming the door behind her so that the ceiling wobbled, and within five minutes all I could hear from within was what sounded like a warthog in labour.
I have, consequently, had about two hours' sleep and been up since about 5am. I must write Santa a new note. "Dear S, please can the people of Grantham be subjected to the results of Christmas parties they are not invited to? Love, Reg."