THE first car arrived just after lunch on Sunday, and within the hour a mini-convoy had pulled up, the wheels of each one buckling under the heavy load.

Watching them empty was like watching a magician's trick.

The boxes seemed to be never ending, all shapes and sizes, each with various labels. Books, CDs, pots and pans. How so much gear could come out of one Vauxhall Corsa, Mary Poppins only knows.

The constant opening and shutting of car doors, the screeches of 'Be careful with that dad' could only mean one thing. The students are back.

The particular part of Lancashire where I reside is a magnet for students. Indeed the bulk of the population is in fact work shy, er, I mean studying at the local university.

The very reason the Long Suffering Marjorie and I first moved here from Sunny Rochdale (where most inhabitants couldn't even spell student let alone become one), was because she too was a student. It makes for a great social life, with pubs and clubs always busy, no matter what night of the week it is. Monday night is on a par with Saturday when you don't have to get up the next day.

Of course, as part of the minority torch-bearing-good-old- fashioned-tax-paying worker, I was never privy to such jollity.

The LSM lived it up with her scores of pals, while I struggled to strike up a conversation with like-minded individuals. More than 12 months on, I can count the number of friends I have made here on one finger.

The return of the students signals the start of the new school year. There are five that that live next door to me - obviously employing the same pack-'em-in technique they used to load their cars with. Our house is structurally identical and there is no way more than two couples could possibly live in it. And that would be too cramped.

They are the same lot that lived here last year, so they are obviously not freshers. And by the squeals of delight afforded to each other, it would seem they have not seen each other all summer.

They have probably spent the past four or so months travelling in some exotic destination, courtesy of mum and dad. (I'm not bitter, in case you're wondering.) And now they're back.

I should really know what they have been up to, but (such is modern society) the old-fashioned notion of knowing one's neighbours seems to be well and truly a thing of the past.

I don't know their names, can only guess their ages (early 20s), and haven't a clue what they are studying. The only things I know about them are what I have observed.

For instance the guy with the blue Micra stayed throughout the summer, working locally. I know that from seeing him return dressed in a shirt and tie.

He is the only one who stayed, while the rest are filtering back: the bespectacled gentleman with the red Cavalier, the blonde-haired girl, the girl with the black curly hair and a new chap.

It's only a matter of time before the music starts, followed shortly by the blaring of the television. By me.

Students nowadays are so wrapped up in their homework that they have forgotten how to have a good time. No drink, drugs or three in-a-bed romps these days.

Not once have I had cause to complain about their behaviour (not that I would complain, but still there's been no cause).

In fact it they who had the audacity to complain to me when, one particularly drunken night, Elvis got slowly louder and louder until the walls began to shake.

It was only a visit from the nice boys in blue, which alerted me to the students' displeasure.

I look forward to a visit from them again soon.