The female equivalent of The Hoodie is about the same age but is different in every other respect.  Now she's hit her late teens she's graduated from helping her friends scavenge for cigarette butts outside McDonald's, and has left the cheap sportswear behind. Even so, boob tubes have only just arrived in her neck of the woods and Channel 5 is a recent innovation. These people are not sophisticated and have an incessant need to talk, text and fiddle with bits of their anatomy.

If you're easily distracted you'll notice they constantly play with their hair, searching for split ends, twiddling and caressing it. She may also be picking her nail varnish off or idly investigating one of her pimples. Personally drives me insane. For some reason no one has taught her to sit on a seat properly with her feet on the floor. The default position is with her knees up near her chin. When not fiddling with her hair, nails or pimples, she'll be texting on her Blackberry at dazzling speeds using her thumbs. This is a generation thing. Older people hold the phone, usually at some distance, and use their index finger while peering intently over their glasses.

In between the texting, there'll be the phone conversations. These are always of the he said she said variety. She'll occasionally discuss boys in this way, but more usually it involves the slagging off of close 'friends' and her take on current affairs:

"Like she never did say that. Oh my God. I said she was a chav. She said I was a racist. But I'm not because chavs are so not a race."
"Rosé is lush, but vodka sends me out of my brain. Dunno why? Maybe I'm allergic to things you can see through? I'm fine with windows though."
"Did you see Kate Middleton in the paper this morning? Awesome. She looked like Lorraine Kelly - they could be related or something."
"She said I was so totally a bitch. I said it's Queen Bitch to you."
"He said to my Mum do you take fish fingers in part payment. I don't know? I don't know? I think he was trying to be funny."

How to spot Miss Wrigley
You can recognise Miss Wrigley because she'll look quite a lot like Kerry Katona. She'll also be chewing gum non-stop and there will just be the just perceptible streaks of slightly orange fake tan. Her general demeanour will be one of slightly cocky studied boredom, with a 'whatever' attitude. She'll have thick foundation on her face in an attempt to cover up the fag burn scar, received when standing too close to one of her mates outside Wetherspoons last Thursday. Eye make-up is thick and nails have been carefully painted even though they're badly bitten.

She's a little on the porky side for her age but that doesn't deter her from wearing short skirts and exposing her floppy mid riff and bursting cleavage even in the depths of winter. Shoes of choice are either ridiculously spiky high heels with shiny red soles or flip flops. Neither of which really go with calf muscles that look like upturned beer bottles.

Rubenesque might be one way to describe their appearance, but I prefer squidgy.

Sometimes she'll be on a massive sulk and if there's a table, will put her arms down and bury her head. I quite like a bit of sulking from Miss Wrigley if it means she'll stay still and quiet for a while, but don't get your hopes up it never lasts for long. Her mobile will go off in a couple of minutes, followed by a prolonged bout of unjustified whinging that is the preserve of people who have never really done a very hard day's work or who've yet to encounter a real and threatening health problem.
 
Survival tips
If possible move to another seat.