So two days ago I turned 18. Since then, I’ve drunk rum in a park, been told off for not eating my greens, gotten into a half hour long playfight, been chatted up by an old lady at a wake, rapped down the phone to someone, headbutted someone in the ass, almost gotten myself and sandwell into a fight with a drunken old man, had a quick nap on one of the tables at the barrels, and demanded that a glass of cider apologise to me.

Any fears that turning 18 has brought out a more responsible, mature side of my personality have been firmly put to bed.