Can you keep a secret? What about your friends, do you trust them? What about your favourite London escort? What would do you with her if you knew she’d never tell? Well I have a suggestion: a lost weekend.

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When I was a teenager I studied very hard, and when I wasn’t doing my homework I was committed to playing sports and winning trophies. My weekends were full up and my weeknights were long and boring. Even though I was a good student and keen on staying healthy the only thing that stopped me from becoming a stressed out goody goody was the occasional lost weekend.

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For me a lost weekend should involve as little planning as possible, just the basics need to be decided in advanced: who, where and what? After that it’s just to turn up and see what happens. You all agree never to speak of what goes on and you all start life again on Monday morning the same person you left it on Friday night. But everything in between is magical.

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Whether you want to drink, dance, sing, explore, create, destroy, seduce or disappear, a lost weekend is fantasy. The weekend should be as debauched as possible with as little recrimination as possible. When I was young we would go up to the cliffs and build a bonfire, we’d laugh and love all weekend, sometimes we’d wander into a town, flooding the cafés with colour and stocking up on supplies. Sometimes we’d even convince strangers to join our merry band.

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Now that I’m older I have fun every night of the week so my lost weekend’s are few and far between, but every now and again I meet a man who’s desperate to escape London life and I say to him: ‘When do we begin?’