"Do you want a cork for that?"

Friday evening. The Blonde had come down from Edinburgh to spend a weekend poncing about east London with me. Upon her arrival we went straight to the old man's pub in Clerkenwell for a catch up pint or two.

I was overjoyed at being presented with much-coveted Pantone teatowels, and I presented The Blonde with my home-made Camera Club badges. (During the creation of which I almost broke the Badge-It badgemaker, designed for kids but somehow unfathomable to a 27 year old professional woman.)

Next on the list was a trip to my much-harped on about local in Hackney. Impeccable service, great atmosphere and a nice mix of people. We bagged ourselves a table at the back and began the cackling and drinking. The Blonde thought that the lovely Aussie waiter was like a Summer Heights High character. We were meant to be meeting The Blonde's old pal from her teenage years; affectionately known in their friendship group as 'Terry Fuckwit' after the Viz character; for generally being, well, a bit shit.

Three hours later, Terry did turn up. Inexplicably clutching a DVD of series one of My So Called Life. I still never found out why this was. They'd not seen each other for two years, so an epic catch-up session began involving a lot of wine. Before we knew it, after ordering another bottle of Sauvignon, the lovely staff insisted that it really was closing up time and we had to go. Please.

A worse-for-wear Blonde to the Aussie waiter: "Can I take my wine home?"

Waiter: "Yes... do you want a cork for that?"

The Blonde, looking confused: "....for what?"

Waiter: "... the bottle of wine?"

The Blonde: "Oh. Yes." Stood looking baffled with a bottle and a cork.

Waiter: "Shall I put it in for you?"

The Blonde: "Oh yes, thank you."

Me, Terry and the Blonde staggered back to mine arm in arm, and it's about here I'm not totally sure as to what happened next. Things I recall:

Smashing my last beautiful wine glass.

Dancing to Pulp's Babies in my slippers. (Both cool AND alluring)

Telling Terry and The Blonde to stop putting their iPods on "because I'VE MADE A PLAYLIST!"

Apparently at one point, Terry requested Erasure. I didn't have it on my iPod, I think I presented him with a laptop, mumbled "Spotify" and smiled like an idiot. It wasn't going to happen. So, in order to fill the Erasure-shaped hole, they apparently burst into a harmonised, acapella version of the song. I wish I remembered this. Luckily, I was treated to another version the next day.

Suffice to say, around 3am, Terry left, The Blonde crashed in my bed and I found my way onto the sofa still mumbling "No, don't put YOUR iPod on, I've made a fucking playlist!"