‘Why did you go to the funeral?’ he asks, and I get the impression that my answer to this question might be quite important – to him, at least.

‘I was asked.’

‘Who by?’

‘I don’t know. His friends. The people who arranged it.’

‘So you went … to … to show your support to them, I suppose.’ It’s taking Simon a good deal of mental effort to interpret my behaviour in a positive light.

‘Yeah, that of course,’ I say. We walk another ten steps in silence. ‘And to show off this really nice tie I bought for the occasion.’

He stops, I stop, he looks at my face, down at my tie, up into my eyes again, he looks puzzled, like he’s trying to make a decision. Eventually he laughs, a great bark of laughter that resounds across the Fields.

‘You’re too much,’ he says, and I think that this is the moment to kiss him, but instead we break our circuit at the corner and head home in different directions.

There’s a text from Jonathan when I get off the underground.

‘Have you seen yourself? You’re famous! Check out Xtube.’

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t leave me in doubt for long, because the phone is ringing before I’ve even got my key in the door.

‘Have you seen it? Well? Have you?’

‘Seen what, Jonathan?’

‘Are you serious? You really don’t know? I mean, you didn’t put it up there yourself?’

‘I really don’t know.’

‘Oh my like God. I’m so coming over right now. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Don’t do anything. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m getting in a taxi now.’ He is, I can hear it. He yells my address at the driver. ‘Everyone was talking about it at the funeral. Everyone. Couldn’t believe you’d do anything so tacky. Oh my God then who was it?’

He keeps this up till I can see the taxi pulling up outside the block. I’ve got money ready, but it seems that Jonathan is cash rich again. Perhaps he did some dealing at the wake.

He’s still talking into his phone as he comes up the stairs, doesn’t draw breath as he switches it off and puts it into his pocket.

‘Get your computer on,’ he says, pushing past me into the living room. It’s the first time he hasn’t headed straight for the drinks cupboard in the kitchen. ‘You are going to fucking die when you see this.’

‘I hope not.’

‘Right, brace yourself.’ He types the word ‘gymbunny’ into Xtube’s search engine and waits, an evil grin on his face.

‘What is this, Jonathan?’

Picture boxes have come up around the screen of men sticking metal implements into their arses, advertising GAY CHAT AND DATE 10P PER MIN and telling me to HOOK UP WITH HOT PEOPLE IN BRACKNELL, which is frankly ambitious.

There’s a blank grey oblong in the middle of all this, a little daisy wheel going round and round.