‘Absolutely not. And anyway, I always do it gonzo style. You don’t think I approach women and ask to take pictures of their hair when I’m sober, do you? I’m not a monster.’

*

The drugs were as bad as I’d imagined. But we were still soberish when we arrived at the bar to surprise Mary.

‘Wow, what a treat,’ she said.

‘You don’t mean that,’ I said.

‘I don’t not mean it yet.’

This was a bar called Catch down at the bottom of Kingsland Road. It’s a pitch-black dive bar with an upstairs room for dance nights and a little dance floor at the back on the ground floor too. Many of my briefest and nicest friendships have been initiated in the roped-off smoking area in the street.

Mary was wearing what looked like a vest of iridescent chain mail.

‘No one’s ever called it that before,’ she said.

‘It doesn’t look like it would provide you much protection,’ said Jonathan.

‘What need have I of protection with you two besides me?’

‘You really are delightfully naive,’ said Jonathan and placed his hand over hers on the counter.

She snatched it away, gave him a look and walked down to the other end of the bar to serve someone else.

‘You and her, you’re not—?’ I said.

‘No, no. Just flirting. Making sure I still know how to do it.’

‘It’s like riding a bike,’ I said. ‘No, it’s not like riding a bike. Yes, actually it is like riding a bike. It’s like riding a bike while you’re really drunk so you keep smashing into lamp posts, and other pedestrians, but not hurting yourself or them badly, just annoying them, and hardly ever killing anyone or yourself, unless you’re really unlucky, that is.’

‘Christ, are the Chinese chemicals taking hold?’

‘The not-drugs are not working.’

‘We better do some more then.’

‘Which ones?’

‘I don’t think it makes a difference. More is the key.’