I met up with my sister, Joanna, last night and all her T-Mobile pals for a drink or three - already hammered when I joined them, their Upper Street bar tour continued apace. Finally we settled on a dance bar that had cheap beer and enough space for us all. Fun was had and 1am soon came round. It was time to stagger home. Or so I thought. But there were other plans afoot. Oh dear.
From nowhere Jo piped up, "let's all go to the Glory Hole". What?!! God knows how she knew about Central Station's Thursday night of sleaze - I must have mentioned it at some point I guess. She was determined that we all go to Kings Cross and despite my protestations cabs where flagged down. And so persuasive was my sister that she managed to convince the straight boys to go too. This was such a bad idea. Oh dear.
I woke up this morning in a very bad state, not remembering quite what had gone on the night before. As I sit here now at my PC and piece together the night I remember only three things:-
1. Playing the game Which three women would you sleep with? / Which three men would you sleep with? with all the straight boys - they loved it.
2. Buying a bottle of champagne for no apparent reason
3. Taking an Italian straight boy for a 'fact finding mission' of the Central Station dark rooms - he was frankly speaking, quite shocked.