What I wouldn’t give for it to be Saturday night and I’m in the centre of town rolling my eyes as I walk past a large group of people saying “Leave it Gaz, come on we’re going tiger tiger”

A large group of girls is stood outside a pub. I can’t work out if I’m more worried about their dress induced hypothermia or hot pants adjacent yeast infections. Either way it’s none of my business and I bury deeper into my audiobook

A group of friends stood outside the library can’t find Jamie. I wonder if Jamie was the guy I saw simultaneously snogging someone AND pissing up the other side of the library but I don’t get involved. He looked happy

There’s a large pile of sick on the pavement that I hop to avoid. The scent of the contents wafts over me and I realise there’s a Subway nearby. I’m horrified and hungry in equal measure

Jessica is NOT having a good hen party because Harriet has worn the same dress she wore to Kate’s hen and that is DISRESPECTFUL. I’m on team Harriet: the dress is banging and who can afford a dress for every occasion. Wear it to the damn wedding too Har, I’ll back you up

In the distance there’s the atonal, bassy rumble of a bunch of lads lads lads singing about the football. I feel everything from the waist down dry up in response. I feel my eggs burying deeper into my ovaries to protect themselves

“You got plans tonight?” Says the £1 shots girl, who is cheery and bright. I’m not sure what it is about my backpack, winter coat and walking boots that suggests I was hunting down the right club, alone, but I’m flattered she thinks I would understand the vibe

“You alright babe, you look lonely?” A drunken man falls in to step with me. His eyes are lacquered and struggle to hold focus. “I’m fine, thank you.” I smile politely (you have to) and keep walking, “bad night?” He persists, trying to keep up but his weaving feet won’t assist

I sigh, he’s Velcro. I stop and look at him, “I just found out I’m pregnant and I came out tonight to find a bloke who might be interested in a sexless marriage with me to raise the baby?”
He blinks and backs off, “frigid bitch” falls out of his mouth. I am sad he is not the one

The train carriage is full of some sort of posh nob convention. Talking so loud they think they own the train. In fairness, their parents probably do. The sort of crowd that makes eye contact with you as they blindly assume you wish you were one of them

M&S tin cans and fancy crisp packet rolls down the central aisle and over every conversation there’s the repeated beginnings of the next conversation as they clamour to talk and not listen. Wasn’t first class invented to protect us from these assholes? Why are they here?

There’s a signal failure three stops from my house and we all pray that no one starts singing to cheer up the carriage. I check my watch: it’s quarter to one, I can’t wait for bed. The girls in the seat behind me are discussing where to go first

The train finally pulls in. The station is that curious mix of deserted and lively: not many people, but those that are there are caught up in myriad personal chaoses. Hearts are broken, stomachs are empty, limbs are trembling, eyes are drooping.

It would be melancholy, except that each mini-drama is supported by a friend holding hair back, or kneeling in front of weeping torsos to tell them it will all be ok, or propping up sleepwalkers to support them to safety. It’s kind of beautiful