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Unless you're Gene Kelly from Singin' in the Rain, it's tough to be truly camp when you're soaking wet.

I came to this (stunning!) conclusion while watching HMS Pinafore in the open-air theatre in Regent's Park last night....in the pouring rain. The actors were trying their hardest to sing their little hearts out, but it's difficult to keep in jolly character when you're constantly blinking water out of your eyes, poor dears. Fortunately, the rain disappeared at the beginning of the second act, just in time for For He Is An Englishman, so people could finally put down their umbrellas and give some hearty applause to the well-sung, well-drenched cast.

Speaking of which, I also discovered that my hosting instinct is so powerful, I am able to hold an umbrella in each hand long past the limits of human endurance, just to ensure my date isn't getting wet.

On Friday I went to a club in Soho called Guanabara for a friend?s birthday. Jane lost her job recently and was feeling so down about it that she wanted to flag her birthday entirely, but myself and others told her that now was precisely the time she needed to get out and have some fun. The venue itself was initially not to my liking- it had a fairly cool design (large circular dancefloor in the centre, with a long, raised bar-area running around the periphery), but the drinks were pricey and the crowd was of the overly dressed, overly snobbish sort that I don?t usually enjoy mixing with.

Jane?s friends all seemed very lovely, but they were all in their late thirties, and not one of them was unmarried or unbabied- to say I felt out of place would be something of an understatement- I felt more in tune with the bizarre Brazillian Cowboy-soap-opera playing on the widescreen (and that was messed up!) By around ten I was feeling fairly jaded and had already started texting some friends at the Spice to see if there was anything going on that I could slip quietly out to.

Then the band started.