It’s 10pm. I am sitting on my threadbare sofa with my once stylish Vaio laptop, writing away my Tuesday evening. Regina Spektor is crashing through my speakers with the subtlety of a PCP binge, there’s colourful candles optimistically burning away, casting protracted shadows into the far flung corners of my room (generally proving candles are pants and electric light will always be better). And I have a glass of Presecco by my side, again. It’s my 3rd glass this evening and probably not my last. Is this the beginning of a drawn-out dependency? The start of my swift demise? No. I’d be a crap alcoholic; I hate cheap booze. I really think the price of prosecco is getting in the way of my alcoholism. How is a slightly hipster, self involved and, most importantly, poor girl supposed to be a drunk when the cost of a good bottle is like £20? It’s an injustice. I might start a petition.