On 11 Dec 2005 at 13:20 Hoss received this email:

I never noticed you leaving the party. Penny unapologetic re Dubya rap. She claims it "cleared the dancefloor". Clint's dancing is very Dick Emery-esque. You forgot to mention that. Phil.

Hoss replied:

Left abruptly at 12.20 in order to grab the last tube which I just missed. Got quoted £35 from a cabbie for a three mile journey to Stratford. Told cabbie he could shove his price up his arse and fry it. Ambled back to St. Pauls and boarded a bendy nightbus. Got back to Annette's at about a quarter to two. Fell asleep.

Tell Penny the dancefloor was already clear when I requested the Dubya rap. Probably because the music was so embarrassingly MOR. I mean, George Michael's "Jive Talkin" for Christ's sake. The only thing missing was a Dido medley. Disappointed that "Smack My Bitch Up" by The Prodigy or NWA's "Fuck The Police" did not feature in the playlist. Hopefully, for my fortieth next year I'll be engaged in a spit roast with a Sugababe and Des Lynam with Cradle Of Filth exploding through a set of Marshall stack woofers rather than having a conversation about babies with Lionel Ritchie crooning in the background. Rock on. Hoss. Hello. Is it me you're looking for?

p.s.-didn't manage to catch Clint's dance routine and I'm not savvy about Emery's moves. One imagines that it was a bit like watching Julian Clary on a bouncy castle with a trumpet stuck up his church.

Cyrano.