No one:

Article about an actor with famous parents: She perches her dainty wrists against the table, biting her lip as she boldly orders a coffee with milk. “I’m a pig” she giggles, “I’m never going to be one of these oat milk girls.” Her confidence is as bold as her blue eyes As we devour a plate of ethical poached salmon, she swoops in as the sleeve of my cashmere jumper dangerously flirts with a dollop of ketchup. “Sauce stains are the worst” she smirks “I once ruined vintage Chanel during a late night kebab stop.” I gasp. Then I realise I’m in love

My postman has left his sack on my doorstep. What does this mean? Am I the postman now? There’s stuff in it - a few letters, a parcel and what I’d guess to be around 7 million rubber bands.
This means he hadn’t finished his round, guys.
He’s either been kidnapped, regenerated like Doctor Who, or shat himself.
I’m scared. I don’t own any practical shoes.

11 years ago I worked in a HMV store and it still remains one of the most surreal employments I’ve ever had. Here are some of the highlights: There was an old man who came in every week asking where the adult DVDs were. Every time you showed him, he’d grab his chest, yelp and pretend to faint, all in a desperate attempt to get one of the female members of staff to give him mouth to mouth.