I haven't always been like this. I was pretty normal as a teenager. Moody, rude and inseparable from my Nokia phone and Claire's Accessories bangles. Much to my parents' glee (and my personal chagrin) I didn't do at all badly at school. Three Bs in A-Level English, Psychology and Maths. I did one year of a Sociology degree before deciding I was fed up with exams and packing it in. Six months later, my problems started.
I was just shy of twenty, living in a studio flat four minutes from Woolwich Arsenal, with a maxed-out credit card, a library of takeaway menus and a Russian hamster called Mojo Jojo. I was working in the canteen at Belmarsh Prison, dishing up slop to a delightful assortment of Category A offenders. The Puberty Fairy had given me cleavage you could hide a pencil case in, so I was expecting the leery comments from the inmates. What I wasn't expecting was the day one of them bit me.
"That must have given you a real shock. Why don't we talk about it?"
I shrug. The man acros