‘Good question. If it rains, and all the bars are shut, I reckon we just head over to NCL. They’re having a house-party,’ Jim said, bouncing the flag pins along to the undergraduate house that sprawled across two buildings at New College Lane. ‘Look, did you see? I’ve marked up wet weather plans with the blue broken line,’ he added, with a touch too much pride.

‘So you have,’ Omar said. ‘I think we’ve finally found a practical use for your new-found interest in military history.’

‘Don’t mock what you can never understand,’ said Jim, who had amassed an impressive collection of children’s books on the subject.

‘So are we going to the bridge for dawn, then?’ asked Karen, looking casually over at the map.

‘Duh, it’s marked right here - we get to the bridge for dawn, five a.m. or whenever it is, listen to the angelic voices, jump off the bridge, run back and get dried off, and then it’s off to the King’s Arms for the champagne and croissant breakfast.’

’I think you need to book that,’ Karen said.

‘I think that the Pantry might be giving champagne and croissants for free to all first years who’ve signed up for it,’ Omar added.

Jim rolled his eyes at the insubordination in his ranks.’Fine, I’ll book the King’s Arms for all of us, including Giles and Lydia. And we’ll go to the Pantry first to get our free froggy pastry and champers; no point in letting our share go to waste.’ He uncapped his red marker and added a line with a little arrow that stopped at the Pantry.

‘And that, men, is our plan of attack. Any questions that do not involve wussy health and safety considerations?’ Jim asked, in a pastiche of a WWII general.

‘You might want to ask Giles if he actually wants you to book the King’s Arms breakfast - he probably won’t want to pay a tenner for champagne and croissant if he’s not drinking …’ Omar started to say, but was interrupted by his mobile, which played one of his favourite Balti Ballads songs as the ringtone. He went to flick it off, but seeing it was from Sharif, answered it immediately. ‘All right, mate?’ he asked. Sharif never rang him. He had to want something. He opened his door and stood outside in the echoing stairwell so he wouldn’t have to speak in front of Karen and Jim; God, he hoped they didn’t start snogging in his room, that would be horrible.

‘Kid, I need a favour,’ Sharif said urgently, and depress-ingly predictably.

‘I’m not lending you any more, you’re the one with the job,’ Omar said.