I agreed, I thought you’d be there, my plan pattered out after that, pittered, petered. We walked towards each other all slow-motion-y but you disappeared before the interval. You said you were sick to someone you came with which wasn’t me, which should’ve been me but mum and dad disagree about who I should see, what I can wear, who I can sleep with. They’re setting me up with boys I ate worms with, logic being, age is the only consideration. Age and legality.

We didn’t lie well, should’ve seen shows like Lie To Me, House, before they were cancelled. We should’ve said it just started, we got talking over coffee on a Saturday when we were reading the same book coincidentally not for an assignment or anything (an assignment you’d set and I’d do). That’s a lie which wouldn’t have swelled – what can you say, really, when 17 dates 22, when it dates 24? But the full disclosure we’re on, we’re about, allows for arguments and ultimatums and feet down.

I don’t see why we don’t hook up in three years or maybe just two when no-one can say anything about it. Or maybe you won’t wait that long?