Climbing up to the top, it could be Spain. Or maybe it’s Cley Hill. I can’t climb up Cley hill because it’s too steep and I get vertigo. Nina is on the phone. She has dyed her hair. It’s longer than before, and the dye has made it sleek and very smooth. She waves her fringe around like a forelock. The woman in Marks & Spencer says that she’ll give me a lift to the pub at the bottom of the hill, but this idea is a bit awkward.
Nina is waiting for me. It’s sunny and we start climbing up to the top. There is a pub at the foot of the hill. Everyone there we know. Some of my school friends are fighting with some irish travellers in the pub. They break it off for a while and chat to us about a play they are starring in. Whilst they are talking to us, the Irish Travellers lie down and go to sleep. Nina and I carry on up the hill. The sun is out, and people are looking out at the view, someone points out a long ridge of hills on the horizon. It looks unreal but I realise that this is because it is unusually bringt and clear today.
We get to the top and inside there’s another bar. There are people asleep at the bottom of a steep metal slide. Nina hops over the people and up the slide, through the hatch to the loft. I want to go up there too. So I try but tread on some of the sleeping people. they shout at me, but I try to heave myself up into the loft. It’s at this point that I relise I’m wearing a long skirt, made from thin fabric and my underpants are made from white bread.