In a bar, on a street not far from the station Angel, two people meet. Strangers.

Vague interest from the girl, she’s mildly intrigued by his charm and easy-going smile.

The boy keeps talking, gently moving them off to one side of the bar, until eventually they are quite separate from the rest of the group.

Conversation flows. A few jokes. A giggle and a long look into each other’s eyes. Then a sudden reference by the girl to her past life. And the boy says “Do you know my sister, R?”

The girl bursts into tears. The boy has mentioned one of her closest friends, who is thousands of miles away, back in Perth.

The girl is standing in London, talking to her friends brother, at a farewell party for someone she’s not even met, in a pub she could barely find, and is very drunk. And now, crying. The world is a surprisingly small place and the girl feels overwhelmed by it all.

This morning the girl feels quite ashamed, and remembers with embarrassment the wild look of desperation and desire to escape in the boys’ eyes, as he was faced with a gushing, snivelling girl, hysterically telling him how wonderful his sister is, and how much she misses her, and isn’t it an amazing coincidence the two of them should meet…

Oh the shame, the shame.

This is all hypothetical, obviously. Of course I wouldn’t do anything as terribly humiliating as get seriously drunk in front of people I don’t know, cry to a strange boy who probably prefers his friends veering more toward the side of sanity, swapping phone numbers with girls whose faces I can’t remember and then stumbling drunkenly to the tube station, to fall down the escalators for the third time in a week. No – of course I wouldn’t be that person…

My head feels like an elephant is sitting on it.