Noon on Sunday. I, being a good little girly swot, am perched on the sofa trying to compose an intelligent analysis of the housing issue updated in this week's Listener. Cue a rattling at the lock and then - in bursts my absentee flatmate. Her long blonde hair is punked up from sleep, dark roots on show, and her eyes are hidden behind a cocaine-cool set of D&G rip-offs. She looks, in short, like a low-rent (but very cool) version of Princess Superstar. As Princess stumbles across the room wearing last night's outfit and exuding a miasma of booze she announces "I'm sooo hungover. AND I slept with Emma's flatmate. And I got my period and he was humiliated because there's blood all over his white sheets. God, I think I'm still drunk - my last drink was at 6am....maybe it's a good thing you didn't come out".
Lordy. Probably. Made me smile though. Vive la revolution.