So, I met Sam for a drink. It was supposed to be supper, but his heavily pregnant wife had just called. In tears. From hospital. Her blood pressure was going through the roof, and the baby could be coming early.
"Victoria said I wasn't on any account to ruin my evening by rushing round to her lonely hospital bed. So, I reckon I've got half an hour before she's sending her brother after me with a hammer."
We had a quick drink in a quiet gay bar in Notting Hill. Unusually, there was also a table of Bright Young A-Gay Things, and the Mature Gentlemen Who Adore Them.
When Sam bolted off ("oh god! pelvic floor..."), I sauntered over and asked the prettiest one if I could join them.
They were lovely, friendly, and I soon forgot that I hadn't done my hair. Adam, the prettiest one, asked me what I did. When I told him I worked for the BBC website, he gasped, "Do you know the WhoSpy?"
Wonderfully, she works for me. And Adam, it turns out, was not only a complete tousle-haired scene queen of the first water, but also a gibbering Doctor Who fanboy.
At the back of my head, a small, nasty voice was saying "Offer to show him what the console room looks like if he sleeps with you." But, strangely, I resisted.
After all, Adam was quite, quite interesting. He'd just been fired from Gaydar (yes, apparently people work for it, rather than on it), and was wondering about heading back to Toronto, or going over on a friendly millionaire's private jet to follow the New York scene.
It all sounded bizarre - a whirlwind of VIP rooms, teenage groupies and free champagne. He'd been a marketing manager, DJ, and drugs dealer, and was now moving into Circuit Party promotion and Club night organising.
All of which sounds terribly exciting - but not really part of my life. I *like* going clubbing - in the same way as I like visiting thrilling Paris, but couldn't live there.
What I most admired about him (apart from his confidence) was his mastery of the instant bitchy comeback. He'd taken part in an early heat of GAY's Porn Idol, bullied into it by then boss, clubland's very own Jeremy "K-Fried Chicken" Joseph. And there he was, standing there, naked on stage when JJ walks up and says "Pity your cock's small, isn't it love?"
Quick as a flash, Adam turns round. "It's gonna seem small when you're standing next to the biggest dick in London."
PS: Off to try and find my bike. I left it in a pub. In the cellar where they deal drugs.