HIS spoken desire for independence—and his unspoken desire to entertain ‘the ladies’ without his mum hovering—saw Mitch move into a damp, inner-city share house with a musician named Deano. As Mitch had hoped, loads of desirable young women dropped by; Mitch even got to greet them as Deano ushered them upstairs of a typical post-gig evening. By the time Mitch had slipped under his doona, Deano’s bed frame would be rhythmically beating the walls above. Echoing through the darkness was just the kind of moaning Mitch had envisaged before embarking on this thrilling new stage of his life.