Lucy returned to London that evening while myself, Alan, JC and Sebastian planned after dinner entertainment in the form of a DJ showcase to which we'd all been invited. To be honest, unless the 'Staines warrior, head homie of the massive posse' is in attendance, some bloke playing a load of frenetic drum 'n' bass and toasting "dis one goes out to all da [insert relevant 'crew' here]...." ain’t really our cup of tea but it was something to do.

When we arrived at the club it seemed the so-called guestlist was null and void so we had to endure subzero temperatures while some little Hitler on the door got a power kick from only letting one person in every 20 minutes. It won't surprise you to hear therefore that none of us had the stamina (let alone the outer garments) to hang around freezing our nuts off just to eventually squeeze into a space the size of a public toilet and listen to DJ Sick's (sic) verbal diarrhoea for 5 hours....... R-r-r-r-right !

Note: Before anyone accuses me of being a racialist, check out 'Da Ali G Show' and get da joke before you write to complain. Maximum respec. Keep it real.

Sebastian, who thought this sounded like a sublime way to spend his Friday night, waited patiently in the street until Goerbels deemed him important enough to hear the great master at work - the rest of us cleared off to find refreshment elsewhere. Much to our annoyance, we didn't do too well at the next bar, due in most part to the barman who demonstrated his disdain of ze Inglish pigs by suddenly losing the ability to understand the simplest of requests in his native language: "Vodka tonic, s'il vous plait !!!" He fancied himself as Tom Cruise in 'Cocktail' but you tell me, would Tommy boy serve up a Moscow Mule as vodka and lemonade? I think not....