Beware Monkeys carrying Powder

I have a friend, Doormouse, who is equally fabulous and equally searching for a boyfriend, so we decided to hit the hot new gay bar opened in Greenwich at the weekend.

Before I went, I looked at some reviews online to get an idea of what we were letting ourselves in for. Most of the reviews had been written by people who had been regulars of the pub when it was just that - an old pub in Greenwich. Since the cosmopolitanisation of the town, coffee shops and gay bars have appeared all over the place. These people weren't overly keen on the new style of Powder Monkey.

As these were not our kind of people, we thought we'd probably enjoy the 'young attractive' bar staff. Well, the boys behind the bar were pretty enough, but none of the reviews had mentioned the excessive quota of lesbians in vests at the pub.

Dykes aside, the three-storey pub was fine, but not brilliant. There was only one toilet (which had urinals shaped like lips - fabulous!), which meant during mid-dance, you'd have to navigate all the way to the basement to take a leak (or have a fumble).

There was no fumbling for me or Doormouse. It may have something to do with the fact that rather than dancing seriously, we spent most of the night trying to 'out-Janet' each other with versions of all our favourite Ms Jackson routines. Oh, and then there was the point when I fell up the stairs with a cider in one hand and a sambuca in the other.

We both tried it on with a guy called Pete at the end of the night. Pete claimed to be straight, but neither of us believed him. I made sure I took Pete's lady friend's mobile number so I can hound him through her later in the week.

Powder Monkey? Not interested.