Sometimes, you go to a gay hip hop party at a local hostel, and then end up going home with the guy you met on the street corner after trying to pick him up for your (male) friend. And somewhere in there, you climb a tree, and acquire a wicked bruise on the inside of your upper arm. Friday night goes in my list of top five most random evenings.

Having been categorically unable to sustain a relationship for longer than a few months at a time (I blame my short attention span), I have never been able to adapt to sleeping in a bed with someone. I contemplated sneaking out and going home, but he had suggested coffee at a local cafe in the morning, and he was bizarrely gentlemanly about inviting me over in the first place… so I laid there and listened to him snore gently, wondering how often I could shift without being too jerky.

I like gentlemen as a novelty, but since my sense of humour runs towards the sarcastic and inappropriate, too much courtly behaviour makes me feel like a finishing school drop-out. Or rather, someone who was expelled from finishing school for picking a wedgie with the salad fork.

Besides which, I feel like I’ve missed out on learning the rules of one night stands. Has someone written an Emily Post on random hook-ups? (I’m assuming this isn’t the sort of thing you learn in finishing school, unless it’s an advanced class you get to post-table settings.)

Anyway, our breakfast date was pretty pleasant, despite the residual awkwardness that comes from having seen each other naked but not actually exchanged much more than names and saliva. And then I walk of shamed home, and got leered at by many, many old men (I’m talking greybeards here) who clearly knew what I’d been up to.