The diary of Emma D May: New age, Sloane danger

Sunday 12.01am: Feeling very floaty and odd since return from Amsterdam. May have something to do with finding three grams of the finest Moroccan on Cheesy-jet flight home - which we obviously had to eat in airplane toilet. D. then became convinced plane was going to crash ("We're all going to die!"), alarming red-sweatshirted flight attendants, who looked more like holiday-camp staff than sort of people you could rely on in emergency. Anyway, happy ending to potential drugs-mule nightmare. Customs busted two blokes in front of us instead, for attempt to import two tins of oxtail soup into the UK.

12.15am: Dr Vikram, medical student, informs us that dope gets broken down in your fat cells or something, so takes ages to clear. His diagnosis: "Extended period of detachment from reality which in worse cases leads to growing of unnatural-looking clumps of hair and tendency to lead dogs round by piece of string." Anyway, trying to get grip because Dylan's new lady-love, Camilla, about to arrive at flat for "superbong-night". Tinky-Winky sawing off end of plastic coke bottle with blunt nail scissors in preparation. Not convinced this is best introduction for new romance, especially as she's the daughter of New Labour peer, but D insisted she should "See us as we really are". Dab some speed with Anna to try and rid self of floaty feeling.

12.30am: Everyone's jaw drops as Dylan, wearing Eat The Rich T-shirt and combat trousers, ushers 8ft blonde Amazon with chiselled cheekbones and DKNY sweatshirt into sitting room. Bit like seeing Tara Palmer-Tomkinson snogging Swampy. "Sorry we're late," she says, cheerfully. "Had to go to this ghastly dinner party..." Awkward silence ended by Dylan slamming in one of his "I-mixed-this-in-my-bedroom" trance tapes. Hideously aware of fag-burned carpet and nasty landlord's-choice curtains. Suddenly realise left college five years ago. "Love the flat," says Tara/Camilla, to proud official tenants, me and Tinky. "It's so...Young Ones."

1am: Superbong well underway. "It's so inventive using a coke bottle," says Camilla. "Next time I'll bring the hookah Daddy brought me back from Marrakesh. It's an antique." Blast of bong seems to curtail similar observations for a while. "Camilla used to live with New Age travellers," explains Dylan. "She was at Newbury, Twyford, Runway II, but after she got a caution for resisting arrest she had to come back to London to chill for a bit." Camilla nods. "Daddy keeps trying to make me go back and take my A-levels, but boarding school's so, like, oppressive. I thought I'd just, like, make it on my own for a while." ("On my own with my whopping trust fund," whispers Anna, ungenerously.)

2am: "Did you get me that gear?" Dylan asks Anna, who produces little plastic bag of speed. "Ooh, cocaine!" says Camilla. Dr Vikram wants help delivering Labour Party leaflets over the weekend. But as Dylan's an eco- warrior, Anna's a hedonist, Tinky-Winky only gets political once a year for Gay Pride and Camilla - surprise! - is a paid-up member of the Revolutionary Communist Party, no-one volunteers. "I'll help," I tell Vikram. "Tell you what, why don't we take a special collecting bucket round for single mothers - they can each put a fiver in to help them budget for the benefit cuts." "Don't argue, you guys," says Dylan, plaintively, sensing his meet- my-mates evening descending into open warfare. "We've just all, like, got different ways of saving the world, you know." Camilla rewards him with sloppy look.

4am: Dylan and Camilla have gone back to squat love-nest. "The Young Ones..." says Anna. "What the hell is she on?"

See Emma goes to Amsterdam, Review