Yesterday night I did not have the energy to put up with people’s nonsense so I popped into a pub to drink a pint of Australian lager on my own. I sat down a on a worn-out leather couch, put on my headphones and played some Robyn. I twiddled my thumbs, checked my emails and made a mental note to buy hairspray and fresh limes on my way home. I looked at the old couch I was sitting on and initiated a mental calculation of how many people may have had sex on it. I am aware that no one has full sexual intercourse in pubs (not the pubs that I go to, anyway). But that sofa is so old that it was probably second or third hand when it was bought so it must have had a life that not me nor the owners of the place are aware of. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the fellow pub-goers were conceived on that very same couch on a steamy night in 1987 to the tune of Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now . I tried to focus my attention on the people around me. I scanned the place from left t