In a room

In a room; the lights are out, fairy lights are flashing, there are about a thousand different shaped tea-pots, mugs, cups and saucers on a table, each ceramic piece has an interesting and intricate design, there is also an empty can of Budweiser, a lonely bottle of gin and some people sat on chairs. The door has been barricaded with a sofa and all of the cushions; this feels like a dungeon and with every blink the dimensions of the room stretch and squeeze inwards and outwards, pulsating like the throat of a frog. The flash from a camera creates an image of the subject, a fragmentation of their soul in technicolor. Some people are walking around like the goblins from Noddy with spiky noses and pointed chins, whilst others have huge round heads with attractive over-sized eyeballs. Twenty minutes in this room feels like a whole evening and three hours is a weekend break in the Gaza strip.

A food fight happens and a girl with a giant black hat and red bow-tie smashes one of the saucers on a wall, there are cake crumbs everywhere and mulled wine is streaming out of a teapot's spout and dripping slowly onto a passed out girls cheek. It stains her pale skin crimson. In the toilet you think you are the BFG and your balls are sagging down by your ankles, they are small and withered and the end of your dick is drooping like a jelly babies ice lolly. People are cooking pesto in a miniature cake wrapper, the oven has dry pasta in it on full volume and next door's hedge is ablaze. Outside the house a blond girl is giving head to a stern-looking curly haired guy in a Ford Focus.

In a room; La Roux's "In For The Kill" is playing, distorted, through an Ipod, a short muscly black man is running around in a dress shouting: "Where is my phone" and thick firecrackers are shooting past the window like the end of the world.