Recently, my housemate came home from work saying that she’d had a bastard of a day, and that ‘all I want to do is drink bubbles and smoke fags’. She then got a bottle of Prosecco from the fridge. As she was opening it, she looked at me and earnestly said, ‘Sorry’. I said, ‘Please, don’t apologize!’ It was bizarre. As if she thought I was gutted I couldn’t join in. I really do not feel that way, ever. I feel relieved I no longer need to do that, rather than crestfallen that I’m not popping corks any more.
