Since I was last here my luck has improved somewhat. Well, a bit anyway.

It's been a busy month. A lot of the London DJs have been playing in Ibiza or out at various festivals, so, luckily for me, I've managed to pull in a few extra slots. Warm up gigs mostly, but I'm not complaining. A few extra quid and getting my face out there is worth it - even if it is at the graveyard slot at Turnmills in the very early hours when no-one is there. Some of the cleaners said they've liked my set, so that's OK.

But what I have started doing is trying out DJ spots at gay clubs. I got this booking at a club the other weekend in Soho, called Stiff Cock or something. I assumed it would be a dead cert to meet the ladies. Y'know, fag hags and all that. I heard they would be bang up for it, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, I turned up with my tunes and had had a right good spruce up during the day - the usual sack and crack treatment at the local salon, blinding - and as soon as I arrived I spotted this gorgeous tall blonde by the booth that couldn't take her eyes off me. Result! The beauty therapist said I would be too hard to resist.  

I played it cool during my set - apart from throwing her some suggestive glances over a bootleg version of 'Love Is In The Air' - and I went in for the kill as soon as I pressed play on the last tune in the CD player.

But then the weirdest thing happened. All I remember is her insisting on buying me a drink and then it all goes blank. I didn't wake up until the next morning, in some strange bed with no bird next to me. All I was left with was a note saying 'had a great time, love ya!' in really strong handwriting and a sore backside. I must call up that salon and tell them to take it easy on me next time...