“About four years ago in a club in Sheffield, I drunkenly tried to buy weed off this weaselly-looking bloke. Taking me outside, he put me in his car, locked the doors – and then took me on a terrifying seven-hour tour of the city’s crack dens and homeless squats. Realising I’d sobered up, he then drove me to the only shop open at that time on a Sunday: B&Q. Where he forced me, at knifepoint, to buy two tins of white emulsion and a power shower on my switch card. I ran off while he was putting them in a boot. A lesson for us all, I think.”