Gaydar at 3am is an odd place. Like a party that no-one really planned on being at, where the guests are yelling strange things like:
"Much older sub guy for lad(s) do as he likes with me except fucking while spitting in my face - quirky but genuine;."
"ne1 want to shag in my car?"
"i want to fuck a nice tight, white latin arse. msg me"
Then Sean messaged me: "It's weird here. Read any Joe Orton? You're just around the corner from me."
So, bizarrely, we went for a walk. In the middle of the night. In ice cold Camden. Yeah. That didn't last long.
Anyway, Sean was lovely - he talked to me about musicals as we finally drifted off to sleep at dawn.
The only sour note was getting a message from him later. "Hey u! Did you accidentally walk off with my wallet?"
Oh no, I thought in the couple of minutes before he texted to say he'd found it. First shampoo, now wallets. I'm becoming my ex-boyfriend. After kleptomania, all that's left on the list is drug-dealing, prostitution, 14-year olds, and bad karaoke.