We inspected the damage the morning after the night before. I thought we’d picked out all the sleeping bodies amongst the debris of my parents’ post-party house, but my mother said that we should also check “the flat”. Until this point I didn’t even know we owned a flat.

“The flat” was on two levels next door. The ground floor looked like an empty shop (save for the party refugees scattered on the floor chatting to my sister S), and the lower ground resembled a big NCP car park. My mother explained how she had won planning permission to convert this space into smaller units to rent out. She confidently predicted that this would bring in an income of £38,000 a year.