Putting the cat that I don’t have out

You know how sometimes you get stories in the news (or the National Enquirer) about someone who’s been

1. arrested for serial murder or depraved sex acts, and/or
2. caught out having a torrid affair involving all sorts of torture implements

and you think, Wow, he/she doesn’t look the type. Neighbours are shocked and gasp, He/She was always so quiet, I never would have expected they’d be making monkey snuff porn and selling it on the Internets (just an example, I haven’t actually read about anyone making monkey snuff porn).

Well, I’ll have you know that I also lead a secret double life. You don’t know it — and I certainly didn’t know it either — but according to my sources, I get up to all sorts of shite when Neil’s not in town.

The ‘big news’ among the expatriate community, I’m told, is that I got together with a French bloke (let’s call him Dieter because that’s clearly not French) two weekends ago. Dieter and I were seen dancing and talking at Park Latin, so of course dirty primal (monkey) sex must have followed.

I have this on authority from people who weren’t there that evening, so it must be true.

(I hate to break it to the gossip hounds, but when we met up — omigod, just the two of us! — last night, nothing more sexy was discussed than our jobs, What’s On Xiamen, and of course, the news of our non-existent dalliance. Over a beer. Then he dropped me off in a taxi. Ooh, scandal.)

• 24 Mar 2005