2005-08-19 - 2:49 p.m.

Just about recovering from entertaining my New Orleanean houseguests Todd and Ben, and after a metaphorical orgy of eating, drinking, theatre-ing, drinking and drinking out, they have moved onto Amsterdam(age) for a literal orgy of, well, use your imaginations. They leave in their wake a bottle of Grey Goose, an inflatable mattress and a happily exhausted heap of a host.

The last night was spent discussing, among other things, the specific job description of a �fag hag�, and whilst it was concluded that the term �hag� could be less insulting, the actual day to day duties, which mostly seem to entail cocktails and fashion advice, seem quite jolly. I wondered if there were a straight male/lesbian equivalent, and I came up with �dyke tyke��only to find out just now that someone beat me to it, and it�s already in Urban Dictionary. And just when I was imagining untold fame and fortune. Maybe it�s a common phrase round your way. I don�t know.

It was the same night we were stalking Little Kevvy Spacey (it�s my new pastime). He didn�t show up � the guy gets less considerate by the day � but we did spy the next best thing in the shape of not-TV�s-any-more Nick Cotton. The years have not been kind since the glory days of EastEnders, but earwigging at the bar, I hear he is still able to field conversations from stunning young actresses trying to get into the business, and this despite his decision to wear a yellow suit.

Anyway, it�s a good job I don�t have a big, sloppy, brazen, drunken week ahead of me in Edinburgh. What�s that? Oh, I DO? Oh well, I never wanted to see middle age anyway.