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It was true that drinking was the only way I knew how to have fun, to be me. I had loved the parties, the preparation, the accolades my family got for being so bloody cheerful. Parties and drinking had given me purpose. I was honoured to be the kid with the outrageous family. It was my pleasure to be the reliable supplier of fun. My family squished me into shape. What popped out the other side of my teens was the perfect cookie-cutter party girl. A disco biscuit; someone who had drugs, one-liners, VIP passes, and the stamina to keep most of Brighton entertained until the sun rose over the West
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