We didn't mean to go to a sex club. We honestly just went to Central Station because it was convenient for a drink.
And then, at some point, we nipped downstairs "just to see what the theme was".
It was "Free Entry With A Cigar". There were men. In leather. And a lot of drapes. And some cigars (they do smell exactly like burning dogs. Why is this?).
There was a curious moment right out of a Pet Shop Boys concert. The TV on the wall was showing a porn version of The Empty Child, in which a young man was menaced with a cigar by a man in a gas mask.
"I bet the guy in the mask is really hot," said my friend.
"I bet not."
Then we noticed that not only had the video been filmed in the bar, but several of the cast were there. In costume. Eep.
It was at this point that we got foolishly drunk. And then took a tour around the room.
We're drawing a veil over what happened between me and a young student from Epping Forest. He seemed quite the wrong sort for that kind of place, but took my phone number, which was sweet.
It is, by the way, quite amazing how the English talent for Small Talk is almost indestuctible. Throughout the evening, two men in elaborate leather suits kept up a constant genteel chatter about red wine, Strictly Come Dancing, and whether or not they should go and pee on that nice punk again.
Later, I find myself talking happily to my friend while he flew athletically around in a sling. "Would you like another drink?"
"Ooh, go on. Let's be devils - but make it a half."