Christ: Another ridiculously good night at Purr courtesy of the nu-bluez of Mr Airplane Man and the I-must-talk-someone-into-letting-me-do-an-interview-with Pink Grease. Another reader comes up and says Hi.

I've lost count of the number of times this has happened. It's genuinely strange. I found Campbell, and asked him if it ever happened to him back in the AP days. Never, says he. So why then?

My theory: Pheremones.

I should bottle my bodily secretions and sell them to people who want to gather skilled deathmatch players for nefarious purposes. I could make a mint.