'Shouldn't you be in bed by now? It's half ten over there!'

'Well it's half three over there!' Iz laughed. 'Why the hell are you still up?'

'Because I wanted to hear your laaavely voice!'

'El, take your pills and go to bed.'

'OK…only if you hang up first.'

'Oh please. I'm so not playing this game. Goodnight, El.'

'Goodnight my little cupcake!' I sang, going rather high-pitched.

'Oh my God. Goodnight,' she chuckled and with that, she hung up.

'Come to bloody bed,' Matt slurred from beside me in bed. 'It's half three in the bloody morning.'

'I'm coming, I'm coming. Honestly, some people are so impatient,' I said, shaking my head and pulling back the covers.

'Do shut up,' he moaned drowsily, burying his face in his pillow.

'You shut up,' I retorted, sliding my legs under the covers and laying down. Matt slid his arm around my waist and kissed my shoulder.

'Running up the bloody phone bill with trans-Atlantic calls…' he slurred sleepily.

'Whatevs,' I said and I felt his hot breath against my back as he chuckled.

I fell asleep shortly after and dreamt of the present, where I found myself as a handsome post-grad with my long-term sexy partner in a stylish flat in east London, with a job as a journalist and cartoonist for Private Eye – the number one satirical magazine in England. I was quite famous under my pen-name 'C. Lyon', well-known for my cracking wit in my articles and artistic cartoons with devastating punchlines.

And when I woke up, there was no difference between my dream and reality.

Reality just picked up where the dream left off.