Following that, I was whisked to my aunties house in the Norfolk countryside where my Dad's side of family laid in wait to prime me with jugs of 'pimms' and red wine; fill me up with the cold meat from the day before and dunk my face in flour. Yes, it was the only thing for me in house full of male cousins under the age of 13.
Upon returning to the ice laden roads of Luton, I sharpishly painted my nails and put on my sequin skirt ready for 'Boxing Day Dark Party,' a concept which my Grandmother refused to understand. Phil 'Nightwolf' Gordon had left my name at the door, allowing me to walk smuggly into the club without paying and feeling like the belle of the Luton indie scene.
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