A highlight of being back in London last week was catching up with The Affair.
The great thing about bedding an "A" Gay is that they help you get dressed afterwards. And, when your fashion sense is limited, this is enormously appreciated.
The Affair picked through my shirts with ruthless charm, merely giggled at an inapprorpriate t-shirt, cooed sympathetically over my inability to iron, and finished with a heartening "and it doesn't really matter as no-one will really see that jacket".
This is rather better than my fabulous friend Lee who reduced me to there's-just-something-in-my-eye when we were out shopping recently. I saw a shirt I rather wanted. Lee winced. "Don't you think it's suffered enough?"
I am, by the way, being terribly self-censoring when I mention The Affair. This avoids trouble. Also, by not giving his identity away, I'm building up the enigma of this handsome stranger (not so much a Whodunnit as a Whoyadoin).
It's a mutual agreement. Consider it a necessary sacrifice of free speech - just as Google had to make before being able to enter China. In both cases, someone gets screwed.