Now there was a new fix. There were only two urinals. The new challenger was now leaning back against the wall, waiting for us to finish. But all he could hear was the sound of silence. No one was peeing. Nothing was happening. What were The Rules here? Surely new etiquette comes into play?

And that was when, with no warning or collusion whatsoever, me and the man next to me suddenly pretended to finish, did our zippers up, silently moved to the sink, washed our hands, dried them with towels, and walked out the door.

The new man watched us as we left. He knew there was something odd about what had happened, but he couldn't work out what.

My opponent and I were now comrades. We'd been through terror together. We had a secret. We both sat down with our separate parties and tried to ignore each other.

Ten minutes later, I got up to go to the toilet. As I did so, I noticed him in front of me, heading through the door.

I let him go first.

WALKING

Never tip-toe behind a strange woman on a dark street at night. This is what I'd been doing for the last twenty or thirty feet, and it really wasn't working out well at all.

The problem is, I just don't know how to act when walking behind women at night. I hate it. I hate it so much I would rather ban all women than have to walk behind one after dark. That's right. Ban them.

This woman and I had turned on to the same side street at the same time.

It was a long road, and I was now technically following her.

I hate this, because I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot because I instantly assume this woman will feel intimidated by me. That she'll think I'm a crazy-eyed knife-wielding loon, or a stalker, or someone who wants to talk to her about God.

I tried to work out what I should do, and sped up, thinking perhaps I should overtake her, but then realised that would mean getting closer, and the last thing I wanted her to think was that I wanted to get closer.

So I slowed down again, and tried to come up with another plan.

The problem, I think, is that as men, we know we are constantly under suspicion. In an ideal and crimeless world, we'd all walk around arm in arm, smiling and tipping our hats. We'd skip gaily and step gingerly ... but this was a street in North London approaching midnight, and as such, not somewhere I'd recommend skipping gaily or stepping gingerly. Even to gay skippers or ginger steppers.