I know, I know. I did it. The one piece of advice everybody gives,!and I threw it out the window.

I brought a knife to a gunfight.

Now, it wasn’t a rash decision, mind you. I wasn’t told to be there at high noon, and scrambled for the first weapon I saw. No, I was logical about it, which is an achievement for me. I brought a knife to a gunfight, because I knew the other lady - Gardenia Dawson - had no bloody clue about how to use a gun. At best, the thing is decoration, at worst, an open admission of power, the fact she can wave the thing in a policeman’s face and walk away a free woman. But not a weapon.

So here I stand, little Naria Linell, in a shoplifted pair of trainers and an Oxfam jacket, holding onto my dad’s kitchen knife on a secluded London street. The moon left hours ago, and the rain kept pelting down, but GD said 11pm, and it’s 11pm. She wouldn’t be late to her own duel, would she?