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the band.
    ‘You’re brilliant,’ I tell him. ‘You’re in.’

1992
    Wednesday, 12 February 1992
    1.33 p.m.
    Nick, Damon and I are sitting in the bar at the students’ union with three empty pint glasses and the latest issue of the NME in front of us. Damon has fitted into the band perfectly. Most nights since he’s joined us, band practices in Nick’s and my living room have turned into nights out in the Varsity. These have ended up as mammoth beery conversations about life, politics, girls and music. Damon is now much more than a band mate. He’s a friend.
    ‘Do you want another drink?’ I ask everyone at the table.
    ‘I can’t,’ says Damon. ‘I’ve got an organic-chemistry lecture in ten minutes.’
    I turn to Nick and do a drinking-a-pint motion with my hand. He looks at his watch. ‘I’ve got a three-hour mechanical-engineering lecture in ten minutes. I’ll definitely have another pint.’
    I stand up and walk to the bar. A girl I vaguely recognise is just coming in through the main entrance. I think I know her but I can’t place her. She’s puffing frantically on a cigarette and looking around the room as if she’s searching for someone, but when her name doesn’t spring to mind I lose interest and concentrate on ordering the drinks at the bar. By the time I’m returning to where we’re sitting, the girl is back on my mind again, mainly because she’s kissing Damon.
    1.44 p.m.
    I must have been daydreaming because I don’t notice the Boy Who Dresses Differently until he’s sitting next to Damon. The Boy Who Dresses Differently is the name that Jane and I have referred to him by since he tried it on with me at the freshers’ disco. He’s often a topic of conversation among my circle of friends because he’s one of a select group of people everyone recognises around campus, whether you’re interested in them or not, because they always stand out from the crowd. These university ‘characters’ include the Girl With No Eyebrows, the Boy Who Wears Makeup to Lectures, the Girl Who Is Always In Tears and finally, the Boy Who Dresses Differently.
    In recent times I’d noticed that the Boy Who Dresses Differently had taken his eccentric style of dress to its zenith. On any day of the week he can be spotted wearing an Oxfam suit with trainers; kipper ties with home-made T-shirts, and seventies shirts with flared collars in patterns so loud you can almost hear them screaming from across the other side of the campus. Once, during exam week, Jane spotted him wearing a peach cheesecloth shirt that was so monumentally hideous I ended up having at least five different conversations that day with friends along the lines of ‘Did you see the state of the Boy Who Dresses Differently today? What was he thinking?’
    And now he’s sitting opposite me.
    ‘Jim,’ says Damon, addressing the Boy Who Dresses Differently, ‘this is my girlfriend, Alison.’
    ‘Hi,’ he replies. ‘You’re the Girl From Inner Space.’
    I nod and smile uncomfortably as I recall the song Damon wrote about me. There’s an awkward pause. I’m hoping beyond hope that he hasn’t recognised me.
    ‘Do you two know each other?’ asks Damon.
    I shake my head and put out my cigarette as an excuse not to make eye-contact. ‘No. Not at all.’
    Damon doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t seem that bothered either. ‘You just seem like you recognised each other, that’s all.’
    ‘Now you say that, she does look familiar,’ says Jim.
    ‘I’ve never met you before in my life,’ I reply quickly.
    ‘My mistake,’ says Jim. ‘The girl I’m thinking of is someone I met on Freshers’ Night. She really fancied me. But I wasn’t all that interested.’
    Damon laughs. ‘She must’ve been mad.’
    ‘Yeah,’ says Jim. ‘I think she was a bit.’
    6.05 p.m.
    ‘I can’t believe you were sitting at the same table as the university freak boy,’ says Jane excitedly, when I reach home and tell her the news.
    ‘It was