‘Why are you whispering?’ I asked Louise. We were working on our computers as usual at WLL HQ with the radio on while Graffiti Boy was passed out behind us. The postman popped by later than usual. ‘A guy kept me talking on his doorstep for an hour,’ he said.
‘Is he a lonely old man?
‘No. He’s in his thirties and told me he’s skiving off work.’ He didn’t spot GB. Later someone from HSBC called by to pick up a terminal. By then GB was up and dressed (‘Nothing I haven’t seen before,’ Louise said). I couldn’t make out GB’s lazy American drawl; he couldn’t understand my English phrases. Louise became our translator before he left for the studio. Our miscommunication continued on BBM, so we didn’t manage to see each other. I sent him an email before he left for Ibiza; ‘I’m too sensitive to start caring about someone who is self-destructive. You have chosen the party circuit as your home – it’s transient, self-obsessed and false. The real world has its ups and downs too, but it’s where real friends, love and stability are found. Unless you want something real I don’t want you to call me when you’re on a downer – you can’t even manage the basics such as asking me how I am.’
‘You’re right. Thanks for the advice,’ he replied.

Harry joined me for Le Nozze di Figaro at Holland Park Opera. He’d squeezed in a date so arrived a few minutes late and rushed to the bar to order a bottle of Champagne. Half-way through the first half he needed the loo, but wasn’t allowed back in so continued drinking outside (after being asked by a member of staff if the bottle was his) with another guy who was in the same predicament. It felt like the bell rang within a couple of minutes of the interval. ‘We’ve got to get through the rest of the bottle,’ Harry said, knocking back a glass. Towards the end of the opera I couldn’t wait any longer. ‘I need the loo,’ I whispered.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Harry said.