eleven/threesixfive

Rehearsing in the mirror room in Sutherland House, seeing dozens of reflections of ourselves stretching away.

Sitting with my camera phone, being arty with scenes of the Serpent leaning against the far wall, Nina and Marie watching on, Adam and Eve arguing over the stupid fruit.

It's my turn to play God so I get up and storm on, all 'Adam!' this and 'How could you, Eve?' that.

I throw them out of Eden and curse Emme that she will ever after have to crawl on her belly, and then I storm right back out again and Kirsty tells me to put some soul into it. Not to be God the impersonal master of all, but God the friend who built his mates a garden and watched them cock it up.

Feel sad, she says, as you're banishing them.

ten/threesixfive

Packing up my stuff.

Thinking, it's not sad that I'm leaving Crusters, it's brilliant that I'll miss it here because it only goes to show what amazing times we've had here.

Back in September, we started a scrapbook, called it I Predict a Riot.

What riots we had.

nine/threesixfive

The Masquerade Ball at Founders.

Est is djing, I'm pretending to dj so I can give marra support and get in free, yeah, so we're dressed up to the nines and standing behind an incomprehensible sound deck.

Dinner jackets and ball gowns, people drinking and dancing to smooth jazz.

After the band, we whack on some Beyonce and run out to dance in the two minutes Est has before she has to press buttons again.

This has been the weirdest seven days of my life, so I get my groove on and a beautiful man tells me I look snazzy. All is well.

eight/threefivesix

The quietest cigarette in the world.

In Sam's back garden in Belsize Square, sitting on the steps, the house on my left, the open door, spilling just a little light onto the ground, the other flats above his, lights off, nothing there.

So quiet.

For a moment, then, there's not even any cars, and I listen more, to hear the hedge moving slightly, bugs and an animal, to hear the sound of Sam's cameraphone clicking at something in the house.

More, to hear cars several streets away, someone's heels on the pavement.

And more, the noise of the city itself, the dullest roar of millions.

So quiet, when I take a drag I can hear the paper crackle.

seven/threesixfive

Getting turned away from Cheapskates is embarassing. Not having proper ID is embarassing.

Nipping across the road for cocktails and dancing in Thirst is wicked. And a little embarassing, but only because I'm too drunk to stand by the time Sam and I leave.

six/threesixfive

Est says, to cheer me up, she'll give me a ride home.

The shopping trolley is big enough for me, but Est isn't big enough to push us both.

The pavement slopes away to the right and so do I, control lost, slipping sideways til the kerb rears like a precipice and I stop for one beautiful moment when I think I'm safe, teetering trolley and too scared to scream-

and then we fall over, me in the trolley, Est caught up under its wheels, I hit the road like a sack of potatoes and I laugh so hard and so loud that I think I might explode from the inside out.

I'm bruised. It did cheer me up.

five/threesixfive

It's cold, and I'm not wearing enough.

They dared us, and we dared them, and they dared us, and we chickened out and changed our minds and ran back out.

"Come on, open the door, come on, now, come on!"

"It's FREEZING!"

And it's liberating too, and anyone looking out their bedroom window on the North Quad tonight will see far more than they bargained for, and I've kept my socks on because it's really that cold and there's not much else but laughter, lots of it, and bare feet smacking on the concrete cloister floor.

The statue of Queen Victoria didn't ought to see that much.

We lie down on the quilt, the five of us. We can't see the stars anymore but we did once, so that's fine too.