On the way to the O2:
Walking behind D. and his friend, M., who is looking absolutely ludicrous wearing a full-length black leather coat on the last day of what has admittedly been a chilly English summer, only to hear someone who has just walked past D. and M. yell: The Matrix is calling you, Neo!
You, good sir, are a genius.
On the dance floor watching the weird examples of dancing around us:
P. leans over and says, "D. is dancing like a woman with loose morals."
Indeed he was. I like to think I've managed to amalgamate the good points of male (controlled power and aggression) and female (sexiness and grace) dancing into one amazing package (ha ha ha ha ha ha) but D. hasn't quite managed that, it would appear.