To dearest, dearest Carmen - best friend, great beauty and getaway car driver (even though you don't have your license, but you know what i mean) - i wish you the happiest of birthdays. Sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if I had never sat down next to you in that first media/communications lecture and stalked your givenchy bag shamelessly. If we hadn't devised our 15 minute break "fash attacks" to lands end and parlour x, if we hadn't drunk ourselves silly at the flinders hotel and danced to dolly parton and 90s hip hop, if we hadn't spent hours (and hours, and hours) crying with laughter at such gems of the cinematic industry as stormbreaker, centre stage and wild child and angus, thongs and perfect snogging and eating crust peri peri until we made ourselves sick. It doesn't bear thinking about. It seems like every good thing that's happened to me over the past two years has been with you. And that's not a coincidence, friend.
Happy birthday!
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