Oh my God, I hate this. Seven people have traipsed through the flat in the last two hours, asking about why I’m moving, and what goes with the room, and what we do for a living, and – most often – whether I liked living here. What am I going to say? “No, it’s been a living hell. I’ll be ridiculously happy if I never see any of these people again. I’m intending to wipe this whole traumatic experience out of my memory, using lazer surgery if necessary.” It’s a great flat, I lie with a massive grin sprawled across my face. They’re a great bunch of people. We all stand together in a little power circle, talking and joking with each other and pretending to be friendly, for the first and only time since I moved in nine months ago. It’s such a sad attempt at fraud and deception. I’m sure someone could sue us, if they could find the appropriate by-law. Geoffrey Archer went down for doing the same thing, didn’t he?