Saturday night was a bit of a disappointment, with occasional highs. Marcus and I met up with Andy and his boyfriend Kevin, at BarAquda. Andy came in with a very sad, woebegone expression. "Someone has fucked up," he said. "I booked Sarastro for tonight, but when I looked at the confirming e-mail, it says 'we look forward to welcoming you on the 17th of April' - not the 27th."

We tried one or two other restaurants in Covent Garden, but they were all full, so we ended up at Wagamama.

Upon leaving there, we gave Michael a call. Now, Michael has recently had a house built, and the builders made several huge mistakes - they didn't put in damp coursing or something. Michael has had to move out for a month while they repair it.

Michael being a barrister, he has forced the builders to put him up somewhere in style. And Michael being Michael, he does mean style.

His builders are paying for him to live in a penthouse apartment on Leicester Square. Huge open plan spaces with a home cinema, two roof terraces, two jacuzzis - and a bath in the lounge(?).

The flat is the London home of an English actor doing rather well in Hollywood - a flamboyant somewhat camp, willowy rake - think a younger Tim Curry. Michael took great delight in showing us the flat's more impressive features - the bar on the roof terrace, the views over Leicester Square and Wardour Street, the shower over a skylight on the roof looking down into the flat.

Marcus and I met up with Ian and went off to Duckie. Courtesy of one of the Readers Wifes, we were on the guest list, and arrived just in time to miss the first half of the show by avant garde dance companies the Featherstonehaughs and Cholmondeleys [pronounced Fanshawes and Chumleys, by the way].

I really enjoyed the second half, but I seemed to be alone in this - Marcus hated it and Ian thought it was ten minutes too long (it lasted perhaps fifteen minutes). Unfortunately, this led to me having a go at Marcus, telling him to 'try to cheer up, for my sake'. Marcus refused to rise to the bait, knowing he had to get me home for the next day's party, and just nodded and agreed: "yes dear, of course dear, whatever you say dear."