‘I’m…Carlotta! Hello!’ she shrieks. Blimey, I sound quite sultry in comparison. I mean, it’s a relief to learn that I might not be the uncoolest person here, but I’m not sure I want to start flirting with someone who talks like Mickey Mouse. ‘Actually, Carlotta isn’t my real name. This is my first time too. My boyfriend really wanted to come, and I liked the idea of it, but…’ I follow ‘Carlotta’s’ gaze and see a group of three men, standing about ten feet away, chuckling together. I squint at them. If one of these guys turned out to be my Tinder date, I’d give it a go, but the idea of having anonymous sex with any of them in about half an hour doesn’t make me feel quite as thrilled as it should.

‘He always bloody does this,’ she hisses.

‘I thought this was your first time?’ I reply, surprised.

‘Yes, no, I mean…at weddings, in the pub, you know. We go out together, he just manages to make fucking friends with everyone, he tells me he’s getting our drinks in and suddenly it’s “Oh, you’re Ben’s brother, I think we met once, weren’t you at Bristol, and did you see the rugby?” and I’m in the corner, again. We’ve not had sex in weeks. He keeps coming home pissed! I honestly thought this would be hot, that he’d see me in a wild new light, we’d do something a bit different and he wouldn’t be able to take his hands off me, but once again, it’s a fucking university reunion.’

Poor ‘Carlotta’ is quite flushed, now. Her nose is glowing through her Double Wear. Honestly, I’m not overwhelmed with an urge to drag her into a ‘party room’ and suggest I make her forget about her terrible boyfriend. Still. Courage! Clear eyes, full hearts, nice shoes? Sort of. She’s in Valentino Rockstuds—or good copies—and they make her feet look like toddlers strapped into car seats.