Every person you’ll try and sleep with at home this Christmas

Get the Coronas in

Your ex

Nothing’s been the same since the summer of 2012: those heady, sunny, endless days of Mo Farah, AS Level revision and H&M denim. Things were simpler then, people’s voices warmer, the meals more filling, your eyes brighter.

Back then, Alex was at your side: understanding, gentle, and about as attractive as it was possible for a 17-year-old from a town in the West Midlands to be without being a member of Little Mix or Burnley U21s.

You don’t want to admit it but you’ve missed them. You’ve missed their dog. You’ve missed the furtive glances in GCSE Maths and the pedestrian sex. You’ve missed nobody else knowing you like Olly Murs. You’ve missed their reactionary politics. You’ve missed being cleverer than someone.

Why did it have to end? It didn’t have to. You’re sorry about what happened in Kavos. You’ll do anything to feel loved again, hear that voice again. Nobody smells quite the same. It’s 5am after your first night out back home and you’re pawing silently at your framed prom picture. You don’t feel the broken glass. Go on. Knock on their door. There’s a couple of Milk Tray left in the box. Their mum always thought you were nice.

Anything can happen when the gang get back together again

Anything can happen when the gang get back together again

Your ex’s best mate

Yeah, I know Sophie blocked you on Facebook after what happened in Kavos, but that was two years ago. Things have changed – we’re adults now. They’re not snarling. That was a flirty shoulder barge. They want you to dance with them. They poured their drink on you because they want you to take your top off. You always knew they fancied you – what are you waiting for?

Your best mate

You’re not even that close with Rob anymore. The Whatsapp group’s looking pretty dormant. You’ll regret it when they extend their Australian working visa and never come home. Do it.

That one you used to work with but never really spoke to but once had that really good chat about music with in the staff room

Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cure, The Smiths. These were the three favourite bands of the forever misunderstood, forever half-attractive, forever whining small-town twenty-something cliche who was just too edgy to work a zero hours contract in Boots and too fond of Marlboro Lights to take home to your mum.

Remember that shift Aimee didn’t wear a bra? Remember when Dave made her work in the stockroom after she refused to take her septum piercing out? Remember you posted that link to a Kate Bush song you’d heard her humming on the bus but never listened to on Facebook as bait and she didn’t even like it? Of course you do, you animal. She’s out there in the smoking area. She might even remember your name.

Gaz from Geordie Shore

The eyes are silently pleading for you to love him

The eyes are silently pleading for you to love him

Gary Beadle is in town for a club appearance. Gary Beadle looks sad. Gary Beadle invites you behind the velvet rope. Gary Beadle’s teeth are awfully white. Gary Beadle pours you a glass of Belvedere. Gary Beadle doesn’t think he can do this anymore. Gary Beadle is twenty-seven years old. Gary Beadle is wearing the same t-shirt he wore in series one. Gary Beadle’s agent doesn’t treat him with the respect he deserves. Gary Beadle is broken and vulnerable. Gary Beadle is so handsome in real life. Gary Beadle looks sexy when he cries. Gary Beadle needs you. You need Gary Beadle.

Your second cousins

I mean, the Kardashians are probably at it, and the Queen and Prince Phillip are cousins. All your mates say your relatives from Bournemouth are fit. Do it – it’s probably not illegal, and Tatler thinks it’s fine.

The last supper of loneliness

The last supper of loneliness

The teacher everyone used to fancy

It’s the weekend after Glasto. Mr Francis emerges from the toilets in Spoons and clocks you at the bar. He’s drinking with the caretaker. They come and sit down in your booth – only there’s no space, so Mr Francis, half-cut and bleary-eyed, drags a bar stool across the room and perches two feet above table level, swaying and making jokes about other teachers. None of them land, mainly on account of it no longer being 2009.

The caretaker doesn’t talk. It’s Mr Francis’ round. Will you help him carry the drinks? Did you hear about his divorce? What flavour Barcardi Breezer will you have? Have you met any boys at university? His X reg Renault Scenic is parked outside. The seats go all the way back you know.

Your local MP

There’s only eight Lib Dems left. Get down to the constituency surgery and make history.

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