Trophy 18 - A room of one's own

This is how I like my flat most: in the living room, I can hear the leather of my thrift shop sofa squeaking as Gary shifts his weight. The smoke of his rollie starts to make its way into the kitchen where I'm making us Yasmin tea. The smoke finds its way through my open bedroom door as well, so that when I go to sleep tonight, the fragrance will remind me of my best friend's presence. What the smoke doesn't reach are my statues and paintings, because the door to the second bedroom is locked. As far as Gary knows, it's a storage room.
When I carry the tea tray into the living room, I see that Santa has made himself comfortable right next to Gary, almost forcing him to finger the soft fur of his flank.
I smile and sit down on a cushion on the floor; Gary flicks ash from his ciggie on a saucer next to the sofa; Santa makes the tremendous effort of lifting one big ear.
“Been up to much lately?” I ask.
Still stroking the rabbit, Gary gives me a serious nod. “Believe it or not, mate, I've been thinking about your little predicament.”
“My what?”
“You know, your problem with the ladies. But not to worry, I've got just the girl for you. The name is Angel.”
“Gee, thanks, but you don't have to set me up with a date.”
“Don't tell me you want to save yourself for Mrs. Right,” he says. “There is no such thing as the right woman. Only women who are good enough. Plural.”
“That's lovely, but I think I'll pass on this one.”
“Seriously, Angel's perfect: blonde, big tits, tiny waist, firm grip, more flexible than a snake charmer's snake...”
“I assume you've been there? Why do you need to set her up with someone else? Is she getting too clingy?”
“Not Angie, man. This girl is a professional.”
“Professional what?”
Gary leans forward to kill his cigarette butt, making Santa sit upright. “A professional whatever you want her to be. You ask her on a date, she gives you a quote.” Smoke escapes from his lips as he speaks. You pay upfront, tell her your problem over dinner, she gives you another quote and does the job for you there and then if that's what you want.”
I'm awestruck. Is my best friend really telling me to lose my virginity to a prostitute? But all I can ask is: “Is this legal?”
“I doubt she pays income tax, but to be honest, I would find it a huge turn-off if I knew the tax man would get 40% of what I gave her, don't you think?”
“A rather harsh pimp-charge indeed.”
It's too much for Santa when Gary tries to retrieve something from his pocket. Dissatisfied, he stamps his foot and jumps off the sofa.
When Gary has found the scrap of paper he was digging for, he puts it face down on my table. “Best get it over with as soon as possible,” he says, “no man should have to wait twenty-three years. Especially not a good-looking lad like yourself.”

Trophy 9 - Christmas is when you get homesick. Even when you're home.

Well, and maybe Santa's. He's stretched out on the carpet, eyeing up a life size statue that resembles Milo's Venus. The great difference is that this figure is not wearing a cloth round its hips, thus revealing the genitals one would expect on a naked Cupid: small, perfect and male.

Santa doesn't seem to be disturbed by my androgynous statue, but I'm not to keen on a second opinion. While I wait for my desktop to start up, I stroke Santa's ears.

“Hey buddy,” I say. “Did I ever tell you about Elaine?”

Trophy 7 - Christmas is when you get homesick. Even when you're home.

When I get home, Santa has peed all over the carpet. I find out when taking off my shoes and feeling my socks turn wet. Santa is sort of litter trained and normally prefers the newspapers in the kitchen, but today he must have been feeling rebellious. If I'd known I'd end up keeping a pet rabbit, I would never have chosen a deep pile carpet.

I didn't really choose Santa – which is not the same as saying that I didn't buy him. I bought him from a farm on December the 23^rd last year. Christmas Eve would be the reunion with my dad, whom I hadn't seen since he left my mother soon after my first suicide attempt. He would come up from Newport on Christmas Eve and spend the day with me. I was so nervous – both scared we would have nothing to talk about, and terrified that there would be too many hurtful things to say. I bought the rabbit because one of the few happy memories I have of my dad is when he took me outside one Christmas day and showed me how to kill a rabbit, take off the head and feet and strip it of its skin.

I've never been inclined to use this particular skill, but I bought the white Flemish Giant because it would give us something to do. At noon, we sat opposite each other in the living room, anticipating the doorbell. Me: dressed up in my pinstriped suit, clean faced, hair combed back with gel. The bunny: in a cardboard box on the table, wide eyed and shaking with fear.

At one, the rabbit yawned and tried to lie down. The box was too small for him. I was still sitting on the edge of my chair, watching him and said: “Don't worry, they'll be here any minute now.”

By two, I'd let him out of the box so that at least he could stretch out on the carpet.

At three, I was starting to get hungry and went up to the fridge. “Can I offer you anything?” I asked my only guest. I heated up two mince pies and offered the bunny a Brussels sprout. And another one.

By nine o'clock, I sat down to a vegetarian Christmas dinner on the floor of my living room, because the main ingredient was eating it with me. The 10lb rabbit turned out to have a great appetite and finished the plate of carrot tops and raw Brussels sprouts I made him.

My father didn't have a mobile phone and I was way too proud to call my mother and tell her my dad hadn't showed up. She'd had trouble hiding her disappointment when I told her I would be spending Christmas with my father, and had made a big song and dance of making different arrangements.

Santa's been living in my two bedroom flat ever since. I never got round to buying a hutch, and don't think he would accept it if I bought him one now, after all these months. Apart from pissing on the carpet, he's a lot less messy than the blokes I used to share my student house with anyway.