Against the odds, given the competition, Omar found that he and Jim became friends quite early on, from the first time he had helped Jim back to their staircase after too many drinks at one of the welcome parties. He was glad he didn’t have to drag him up too many stairs, as Jim was quite a bit bigger than he was. He put him on his bed and as he turned to go, he heard Jim lurch. He raced over with the waste-paper bin, into which Jim threw up messily and copiously. ‘Thanks, Omar, you’re a bloody good mate,’ mumbled Jim. ‘Come round for tea tomorrow.’

Omar remembered the invitation, although he doubted that Jim did. Returning up the street to college at teatime, he heard music from Jim’s room and thought he may as well pop in. He hovered nervously outside the door for a moment and, hearing voices inside, debated whether to knock; when he finally did, it was so lightly that he thought it might not be noticed. However, Jim opened the door immediately. ‘Omar, you’re late, come on in. I’ve started cutting cake already.’ Omar wandered in, and felt he’d walked into a tardis. Jim’s room seemed to have expanded with the volume of people that filled it; some he didn’t even recognize. He sat next to pretty red-headed Karen, from the staircase, and chatted about the hangover he didn’t have. Jim, the perfect host, brandished an enormous purple-spotted teapot and poured Omar a cup of tea, before popping over to have a few words with him. ‘Are you going to the Union thing next Thursday?’ Jim asked, slurping ostentatiously from his own cup of tea.

‘I can’t, I have to nip back down to London for the night,’ Omar said regretfully, as everyone else seemed to be going.

‘Parents giving you grief already? Or is it your girl-friend?’ asked Jim.

‘Neither, I’ve just got a gig,’ Omar said modestly. ‘I’m in a band.’

‘That’s fantastic!’ said Jim. ‘Listen, everyone, did you know that Omar here is in a band in London!’ He turned back to Omar. ‘So what do you play?’

‘Oh, just guitar, and I do some backing vocals. I don’t really sing.’