Do You Know Who I Am?

The fact that you are in ‘top’ celebrity nightspot Mahiki of an evening should not detract from a fundamental truth: you are Dirk fucking Diggler, a regular disco daddy, ripping up the floor like some shit-hot carpet-fitter of dance.

It doesn’t matter that the champagne costs £100 a bottle. It doesn’t matter that the staff treat you with a contempt normally reserved for incestuous Austrian paedophiles. It doesn’t even matter that you puke up an entire steak and kidney pie in their toilet.

No, none of these things matter because you are seriously fly and the chicks are digging it.

Digging it, that is, until you have the following conversation:

CHICK: Are you the guy from Peep Show?

YOU: Er, no.

CHICK: Oh.

(Chick shuffles away, with all her friends.)

Vin De Maison

One of the few things I don’t miss is Paris, not least because its denizens take great pleasure in humiliating the English.

For example, when you order vin de maison in a Parisian restaurant, the waiter will almost certainly inform you that anyone uncultured enough to drink house wine should go to a ‘ferkeeng nightcloob’.

In such an event, take this advice on board, choose a heart-stoppingly expensive alternative, and sit in embarrassed silence until he returns – not with a normal-sized bottle but a fucking great Methuselah. Guffaw merrily at this hilarious gag, even though you want to brain the garlic-licking berk with a soup spoon and force-feed him his own cerebrum. By this stage, the other patrons in the restaurant should be looking at you with a mixture of pity and disgust, as though an albatross has crapped on your head.

Eventually, a proper bottle of wine will be delivered to the table. Pour yourself a large glass – you’ll need it to wash down the chef’s special.

Losing Face

Perfume is not the only thing a gentleman shouldn’t wear. Lipstick and blusher can also be emasculating. I say can because they do occasionally have a place – namely, on your face at this mad shindig.

But remember, stage makeup is a complete bastard to remove (even with an electric toothbrush), and doesn’t go down quite so well in the office the morning after the night before.