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As much as I love spending time with my friends (and I do on an almost constant basis), meeting new people can be a hell of a lot of fun. Case in point: Saturday night. Twom's flatmate's friend - Riaz - was over from New York so it was decided that we should take him out for a bit of a gay old time in London's glitzy West End. First point of call? Escape. Talent was thin on the ground, so we shuffled on to the Friendly Society. The lads agreed that this was an improvement. Finally, we walked the two metres to The Village and managed to secure a berth upstairs. Tom fired off some comment about smoking which was agreed with by a random bloke sitting next to him, and suddenly we'd met Randy (a Canadian music teacher) and Robert (a former Kiwi, now with the Beeb). And merrily we did roll along there until 1:30am when Tom pleaded fatigue and the rest of us set off for G-A-Y (via an abortive trip to Heaven).

The theme for the evening was "Fun Fair" apparently. A "Fun Fair"? What the fuck? Still, I haven't been on a bouncy castle since I was knee-high to a grasshopper so jumping like a maniac on that for five minutes was enough to bring back old memories of similar exhaustion at the Oamaru Racecourse. Minus the alcohol, dim lights and shady men of course. Actually, that does sound a lot like the Oamaru Racecourse. But I digress. My thighs were however up for the challenge, being in tip-top condition after helping Meg and Paul move house that day. It's safe to say though that none of us were tempted by the mechanical bull, the main technique of which appeared to be slumping forward, holding on for dear life and praying you wouldn't coat the surrounding canvas in a lovely shade of minestrone.

Eventually, my new chums and I departed (around 4:30am if memory serves) for coffee on Old Compton Street before finally going our own respective ways home - a taxi for Riaz and myself and a Smart car for the boys. How chi-chi!

So, the moral of the story kids? Stranger danger is vastly overrated as a concept.
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