After hours: my champagne costume drama

I have two reasons to dress fabulously tonight. The first is to look edible for my man, as always, and the second is because it's a fancy dress competition to win a Methuselah of champagne, which is eight bottles in one.

The theme is Marquis de Sade, so I've powdered my body white and made a long cape out of a damask curtain so I can use it to flash my lingerie as I dance. The finishing touches are some Versailles drooping ostrich feathers in my giant up-do and some corset-laced knee-high boots. My poor boyfriend - I call him Neanderthal - has been puffed all over with white powder and had a crazy turban twisted round his head so he can improvise as an exotic manservant - which he pretty much is.

Helping me with the powder puffing are my usual sidekicks Annette, wearing a real chandelier as a headpiece, her body wrapped in its broken crystal strings, and Harriet, who is dressed as a kind of ghostly jockey equipped with whip. With the last puff of powder on Annette's buttock we leave my flat and hop in a cab to Angel.

The club is in a dark sort of hole in the ground, with a slight damp smell and cave-like apertures where you can dance or drag your unsuspecting lover into the shadows.

Annette spots her gay best friend Tom looking people up and down. Annette is the biggest fag hag you'll ever meet - the first friend she made at primary school was the little boy making daisy-chain jewellery.

"I heard there was a fire at the Chariots gay spa started by poppers," Tom tells us all. "Must be why this place is full of gross men," he adds. Tom is a model scout, very picky and very bitchy.

So while everyone else minces off to the bar, I do the strategic thing and try to chat up the fancy dress judge.

"Hi, I'm Binksy. It's going to be a tough competition tonight, I see," I say to him sweetly, swishing my cape over my shoulder. And it's true, the place is full of super-creative gay guys wearing mad and outlandish costumes.

Then Harriet comes over with a margarita and tries it on with the judge too, almost whipping him into submission with her crop. Next, Annette sees what we're up to and slinks into our little triangle, all of us jostling for the judge's attentions.

Neanderthal grabs me and spins me onto the dancefloor, where I spiral round him for hours.

Finally it's time to announce the best dressed and everyone gathers around the decks: "And the winner is Binksy!"

I spend the next half hour trying to escape from Harriet and Annette who want to crack my prize open and squander it on their already blotto selves.

Neanderthal and I hug the huge bottle between us all the way home in the taxi, then drag it into bed as we get passionate under the quilt. I can't seem to leave the bottle alone, it's like another man in the bed. I awake with the massive girth of the bottle in one hand and Neanderthal in the other.

"When are you going to open it?" Neanderthal asks.

"When we get eight people in the bed to share it," I laugh.