Little White Lies


s a teenager, sleepovers with my girlfriends would pretty much always go the same way. There’d be a decadent spread of pizza, crisps and sweet treats containing ill-advised amounts of sugar. Feasting would conclude with the consumption of fizzy pop or – once we were brave enough – alcohol, which we worked out could be disguised in mini bubble bath bottles from The Body Shop. We’d hole up in a room large enough to house numerous “sleeping” girls, chatting into the wee hours, making prank phone calls, braiding hair, choreographing dance routines and occasionally playing a risqué game. Without fail, at some point in the festivities, there’d be a film.

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