When I run into John on the arm of his new girlfriend at Milady’s, a bar on the Soho block on which I’ve lived for eight years, I figure I have two options: throw a glass of wine in his face, or fling my friend’s pint of Guinness instead.
Then I remember our sex tape. I still have the footage, but he has the link. In a way, so does every other wanker on the internet. Maybe we shouldn’t have posted it after all. Read More