This story starts like the beginning of a cruddy reality TV show, like a Made in Chelsea-esque special.
It was the last day of the Splendour in the Grass music festival and myself and seven friends had spent the past five days camping in a very hot, humid and dripping tent.
We’d gone to high school together and had known each other for around eight years. However having just come back from another trip, myself and my good friend Rosie* were getting on each other’s nerves.
We’d just gone from sharing a small Airbnb apartment together to sharing a tent with five other people.
It was a year when it was constantly raining and the festival was a mud bath, the tent would leak water and things were just a bit gross, dirty and soggy.
Gradually throughout the festival we butted heads. They were petty things, in hindsight, cringe-inducing things. Things like who could use whose battery packs (a rare commodity at music festivals), which acts we were going to see, the placement of muddy gumboots, and whose turn it was to zip up the tent.
Despite this, the peace was kept. There was an occasional passive aggressive remark here and there, but nothing serious. However on the last night of the festival, something utterly mortifying happened.
We had all split up, and arrived separately back at our tent after the final band had finished performing.
Two of my friends, Elliot* and Paul*, were already there. They'd come back from the festival early and told me that Rosie was really, really drunk. She might have taken drugs, they said.
The problem was that she knew she had to drive us back to Sydney in just three hours time. It was a nine hour drive.
This news, combined with the bubbling tension, annoyance and pure agitation I'd experienced at Rosie's hands the past four days, spurred me to launch into what can only be described as a full on bitch-fest about her behaviour and my problems with it, and her.