Meet Mr Ass

The culprit has been apprehended: none other than the boyfriend formerly known as Alec, now to be referred to here as Mr Ass for the near future.

The shameful facts emerged over dinner at Viet Hoa (the crispy pancakes fall miserably short of Song Que’s dizzy heights, but the rest of the food was fine).

Harsh retribution was swiftly dealt out by demanding that he buy me my favourite cocktail (it involves creme de menthe, Bailey’s, Kahlua and something else I can’t remember) at Bar Kick, after which I defeated him with relish at table football.

Last night I slept the sleep of the just.