After the book-signing at Borders last night, I went to Barcode. My sort-of date and I circled each other suspiciously for a minute or two. "Marcus?" "David?" We chatted for a bit, nervously gulping beers far too quickly. Got off on the wrong foot, then kept putting the other foot in it [must learn not to diss Janet Jackson]. He saw through me pretty quickly: "you always have to be right, don't you?" It was one of those nights where I knew everybody, normally a great thing, but not when you're trying to have a deep and meaningless chat. Guy turned up [he's so desperate for a mention here] and I pushed him off the stage and then disappeared into the night. Into deepest, darkest Oval, actually. Even there I wasn't safe. A voice from a passing car: "David!" It was Little Steve. "Where are you going?" "Where d'you think?"