When I am Queen of the World, the sun is going to be the first thing against the wall

I’m the person at barbecues dressed in what basically amounts to a bee-keeper’s uniform, writes Louise O’Neill.

I know everyone who reads this column on a regular basis is under the impression that I’m a perfect human being but sadly, I have to disabuse you of that notion. And not in that fake way you do at interviews — “My weaknesses? Sometimes I just work too hard, I’m a perfectionist, you know?” No, I’m about to get real with you.

I have flaws. Lots of them. I get terrifying fits of road rage. I fantasise about murdering people if they’re walking slowly in front of me on city streets. I like children but that soft patch of skull on newborn babies makes me want to be sick. I ssh-ed someone at a Sonic Youth show because they were singing off key and I didn’t pay good money to hear them massacring ‘Teenage Riot’. I detest pizza. (I know, I’m a monster.)