It’s almost as if there’s a connection: when we use grog to escape eons of second-class citizenry and oppressive gendered conditioning, the men most shaped by patriarchy seize upon the vulnerability of inebriation to put us back in our customarily subjugated, violated place.

Every weekend we’d go out in cabs to some rich kid’s party where girls were assaulted by boys. There were so many times, I can’t remember them all. The richer the boys and men, the more obvious their impunity. For all the ridiculous rules designed to instil some kind of British schoolhouse discipline and academic achievement, nobody took seriously the rape culture at the heart of private school life.