Just at 3:30 in the morning update:

A very drunken man from Uganda kept trying to stick his hands down my pants (or, when I thwarted him on that, up my shirt). I met him at the bar and he was very interesting, before the sexual asault. I promised him I would email him, but now I'm afraid, realising he only really wanted to fuck me. He had so much to say about why he loves his country and why he wants to go back and what he thinks about Canadians. He said we were rascist, and what he said made sense,

B kept pulling me out of it all, with his great Dane sensability. And now he's here and I'm far too drunk to report on the rest of the night. Except for the part where I have a really important meeting far too soon.

Wish me well.