Sunday 12.01am: Dylan's surprise birthday party. Have broken into his flat via bathroom window and poured Anna's Special Cocktail Recipe 21 into bath (four parts vodka to one part gin, two parts tequila, half a bottle of Southern Comfort, two bottles of fizzy wine, one bottle of Ribena, garnish with dope leaves). Have assembled party snacks of vodka jelly and Linda McCartney sausages on sticks, and stuck 25 candles in gigantic hash birthday cake. DJs have unpacked decks and records, helium balloons have been blown up, the Teletubbies we bought for D's birthday are hugging each other on the sofa in excitement. Only one problem. Where is Dylan?

12.50am: Guests flooding in. Try to keep everyone quiet in case Dylan arrives. Anna in very weird mood, not helped by frequent visits to bathroom to "test the cocktail recipe". Can sense imminent "Miles-was-the-love- of-my-life-and-now-he's-married-to-someone-else" crisis. Me and Vikram try to cheer her up by doing comedy helium voices and making Teletubbies engage in group sex.

1am: Still no sign of birthday boy. Have to let DJs start turntables to avoid mass insurrection. Vodka jelly stock being slowly depleted. Special Recipe Cocktail barely covering bottom of the bath. Arrival of Dylan's brother with implausibly sized homemade bong and a pocket of pills.

2am: Anna wants to confess something. "Look," I say. "It's time to let go of the whole Miles thing and get on with your life." She shakes her head drunkenly. "'S'nothing to do with Miles," she says. "'S'about a long time ago... someone else..." At that moment, spot big guy with dreads poised over hash birthday cake with penknife. Disable his knife-wielding arm using self-defence tactics.

3.10am: "Will listen to meeee," says Anna. Then something which sounds like "shagged-the-earl" followed by indistinct muttering about tabloid reporters.

3.11am: "Who have you shagged?" I ask. "Topsecret," says Anna. "When?" I ask, incredulous. "Years ago, for laugh. Notmyfault. Was quite cute." Starts giggling like maniac, then goes deadly serious. "News of World want to do story and give me bucketsofcash." I look at her sternly. "Anna," I say, hand shaking slightly as try to skin up. "You're a few months off qualifying as a barrister. It might not look great on your CV." She shrugs. "Fuck law," she says. "Can take money and go round world for couple years. Be cool." Offer Anna line of speed to sober her up and remind her about post-Diana press intrusion issue.

3.30am: Someone has indulged auto-erotic fantasies by hanging Po the Teletubbie from leather-belt noose in doorway. Environmental health officers turn up because of noise complaint. Can they speak to person who lives here. "He's in the toilet," I say. They say they'll wait and could the music be turned down about 40 decibels, please.

3.40am: Send Dylan's brother to pretend to be Dylan. Seems to work. Music cranked up again within seconds. Anna wandering around party going on about The Earl. Tell her to either say who it is or shut-up.

4.10am: "Dylan's coming!" shouts someone. Music off, lights off. Hear fumbling in lock and low voices, one female. Surely, Dylan hasn't pulled? Women flee from him. His idea of being romantic is taking a bath once a month.

4.12am: Unpleasant slurping noise in doorway.

4.13am: Flick on light. Deafening shout of "SURPRISE!" Surprise is something of an understatement for Dylan, who is being groped by posh- looking skinny girl. Dylan looks freaked out. "This is, erm, Camilla," he says. Watch Camilla's face as she takes in Po hanging in doorway and 60 people very much worse for wear swaying with embarrassment. Suddenly, Anna lurches forward. "Dylan," she shouts, too loud. "Got to tell you. Going to be in News of World 'cos of shagging EARL SPENCER."