there was the event that became the rite of passage into our group of misfits and outcasts: making a mould of your teeth. It was inevitable that one of us, seeing the plaster casts on the shelf by Steven’s bed would ask how they were done. It was just as inevitable that a few minutes later, Steven would be mixing up various powders and liquids, and pouring them into a horse-shoe shaped contraption. It wasn’t dangerous. At least, I suppose so. It was vaguely uncomfortable, and appeared sufficiently disturbing that we all volunteered each other in turn until, at last, Andy said he was game. And we were off. The hardest part was probably to overcome the gagging reflex that set in when you bit down into the