Good night

8.45am. Last night's disco at Van Mildert could have been really terrible but in fact it was good. Roy and Kirsten didn't show, which I expected, but Katherine, Valerie, Phil, Kev, Sally (the really pretty lady in the wheelchair) and Paul all did. It was very well attended, even the tutors came. Paul and I bought David Keen a drink, to thank him for helping to make it a brilliant week, and I had a nice chat with the ever lovely Jimena (who turns out to have been this week's course director), to tell her the same. It did occur to me afterwards that I was probably a little worse for wear when I was talking to her, but I hope she appreciated the sentiment.

Paul and I sharing a moment.

Save the cheerleader... Phil trying vainly to engage her interest.

Paul and I have had a running joke this week, that despite Jimena's magnificent English, her pronounciation of 'Gauss Peak Fit' as 'Gass Pick Feet' gives him a gradations of a boner (don't forget it's now an SI unit, symbol B!), so if I feel so inclined to annoy him I have been saying it to him to see what happens. That's almost a Brainiac experiment.

The music at the disco seemed to suddenly get better. Paul lamented early in the evening that the 'dance floor' (in reality, a bit of carpet that disco lights were aimed at) was completely empty. What he meant of course is that it was empty of girls, although in the interests of equal opportunities it was empty of guys too.

I told him to go to the DJ, and ask for ABBA's Dancing Queen, on the grounds that this would immediately be followed by a load of ladies saying "oooh!", and moving in the direction of the dancefloor. It was gratifying to be right too.

Paul thinks that it's very funny (if unfair) that I'm better with women than he is. I explained that the central issue is that with me, women know full well that they don't have to drop their knickers at the end of the night, which conversely with Paul is exactly what he's after. He says that if I were straight I would have no shortage of women after me. I think that was a compliment, and I took it as one.

The DJ played some excellent old tunes, mostly disco but some great HiNRG stuff too. Paul managed a task that very few other people have managed; he got me on the dancefloor. I seem to have a vague memory of Come on Eileen, and some pretty serious male bonding between our group of lads was going on. Phil is very funny (and tactile) when he's drunk, although Dawn, the preppy cheerleader, that he's been interested in all week, was completely uninterested in him, and her folded arms (and lack of a smile) should have really given it away! But it certainly didn't stop him from trying.

The handsome but dense barman. The picture doesn't do him justice. He was lovely.

The same handsome but dense barman was on, although he's best viewed from the neck down. Tonight he was rather more covered up; it turns out that his last shift (when he was in a sleeveless top and jogging bottoms) was unexpected, and he didn't have time to pick out an 'outfit', but tonight's shift was planned.

To be honest, Paul wasn't the only one to do Grandad dancing.

Paul did drink an awful lot. I had quite a bit but not nearly as much as him. He also managed an impressive amount of grandad dancing. We all sang along with an inordinate number of songs, and I'm feeling worse for wear in the old vocal chords this morning. My voice has dropped by two octaves, so I must have been doing an awful lot of very loud singing. I sound like Barry White this morning!