I was sitting in the kitchen of stately Perseus Manor, around nine in the morning.
I was just stubbing out my 137th cigarette of the day when there was a knock at the door.
It was my latest love-interest, Miss Flotilla.
“Perseus,” she said, “I’ve arrived in your quaint seaside village for the weekend. I’ve brought a small truck load of illegal pharmaceuticals and some red wine – but there will be no sex.”
“Fair enough,” I said, “come in and we’ll drink far too much coffee.”
Later that day we were drinking coffee at a cafe, discussing Foucault, when I was distracted by a conversation at the table next door. Some hippie was talking too loudly with her hippie friend about the healing powers of rainbows.
“Shut it hippie,” I snarled, “your suppositions are founded on nonsense, God does not exist and you stink of cheap incense.”
Later that night, there was a big party at my place.
Ponygirl’s brother, Ponybloke, was there, as was Feralgirl, Nuisancechick, GothGothGothGirl and some weirdo called “Bess”.
We all drank too much red wine and took too many drugs.
GothGothGothGirl and Bess ended up shagging in my bed.
I had no sex.