Bold face names

Spent the day at home in a pair of old jeans and a zip up hoodie, instant messaging with a drum and bass DJ who performs in full face paint and a tuxedo. We met under the tenuous pretence of Joanna travelling with his unanimously loathed brother for a short period in India. We traded notes on the comparative values of two- and four-ply cashmere and discussed our weekend plans (pancakes for me, high-paying party for him) and for the afternoon, I lived vicariously through the successes of a 6'3" Shoreditch turntablist who smacks remarkably of the singer Meat Loaf.

Cancelled my credit cards following the robbery. Jo reported our stolen goods on my behalf. The two policemen at the station were comparing pictures of themselves on Facebook when she arrived and it reminded me of hiding out in the back of the art gallery at home when my coworker and I would while away our shifts on social networking sites and YouTube.

In reviewing my summary of the worst night of my life, I regret to note an omission in the evening's description. While I originally began the evening with posh Tim and his Swedish girlfriend, I forgot to mention his ever-present and ambiguous associate, a leery Indian friend who had traded his lace-up flared capris from the Cavalli party for a lovely pair of stonewashed high-waisted flared jeans and a red raw silk henley. Also, that evening I threw up in a stranger's hat in the VIP room while Will I Am of the Black Eyed Peas looked on.