Unfortunately one of Sophie's flatmates decided that Loveless was too depressing, and tore it from the toilet door without asking any of the other flat members. Still, even some of our greatest literary names were under-appreciated in their early days.

Not to be outdone, I penned this, the second in my series of stories for toilet doors. Inspired by the fact that it was just prior to Christmas 1996, a festive story seemed to be in order. Typically, of course, I didn't quite manage festive in the traditional sense, and the woman who had objected to Loveless decided that this one was also too depressing. Some people, it seems, just don't appreciate dark humour.

5th December

'I suppose we'd better start thinking about Christmas fairly soon. Any ideas what you want yet?'

'Yes mum, I want cash. Cold, hard currency - preferably of the ten pound note variety. No vouchers, socks, Union Jack boxer shorts or "Old Spice" box sets; just cash. Money. Wonga. Spondulicks. In short, I want - no, I need - cash if I am to successfully make it to the end of my life as a student without bumping into the end of my life itself whilst en route.'

'Aren't there any CDs or videos you want instead?'

'No mum. Just cash.'

24th December

'I can't help feeling that it looks a little bit bare around the bottom of the tree, with no presents for you and just envelopes hidden amongst the branches.'

'It's alright mum, envelopes are fine.'

'I suppose it's a sign that you're growing up really.'

'Yeah mum, whatever.'

25th December - Morning

'Come on, open it - we all want to know what you got.'

'Well mum, there's a card... and inside the card is...'

'Yes...?'

'...a five pound voucher for WH Smith.'

'Well, you can add that to the others then.'

'Great. Fifteen pounds worth of Boots vouchers, and twenty pounds worth of WH Smith's. Brilliant.'

'Don't forget the CD.'

'Oh yes, of course - and I've always wanted "The Greatest Hits of Kajagoogoo" together on one CD.'

'But I thought you liked them.'

'I did. When I was thirteen.'

'Oh well, your gran's coming round this evening - she's bound to have got you something nice. And there's a little something from me and your dad, since you didn't have many real presents to unwrap.'

'Oh, thanks... A 'Terry's Chocolate Orange' triple pack, just what I fancied.'

25th December - Evening

'Hello gran, how are you?'

'Oh, can't complain. Now what have I got in my bag for you then...?'

'Great, an envelope.'

'Oh mum, you shouldn't have. Open it up then, let's see what's inside.'

'A card... and ten pounds worth of WH Smith vouchers. Thanks gran.'

'Well, you're mother said you wanted money, but I do so hate giving people cash.'

'Great, I'll remember that when I get evicted.'

'What was that dear? You'll have to speak up, you know - I'm not as young as I used to be.'

'Nothing gran, nothing.'

25th January

'I hear we've got a suspicious death then?'

'Yes sarge - some dosser sleeping on a park bench. Found this morning by that bloke over there as he walked his dog.'

'Cause of death?'

'Don't know for certain, but at the moment it looks like hypothermia.'

'Well, that is suspicious - some dosser copping it through hypothermia.'

'Well, it just seems a little odd, sarge - as though he's not really a proper tramp.'

'In what way, constable?'

'Well sarge, how many dossers do you know who bother to cover their smell with a load of "Old Spice" and half the men's toiletry section of Boots. And then there's his bedding: for some reason he seems to have slept under dozens of copies of today's newspapers - not a single old one amongst them. And finally, just about every tramp I've met lives off scraps from the bins of restaurants, yet this one seems to have been surviving on nothing but chocolate oranges...'