I haven’t been out for six months but I was still surprised at how quickly fetish fashion can change. And where were the women? It eventually occurred to me that I was supposed to be at 483 Hackney Road not 438, near where a mosque was discharging the faithful.

Back in the 21st century a different sort of worship was available at Images, a smart glitzy club with excellent bar staff and efficient, unobtrusive security. Host Alan was as cheerful and welcoming as ever. He’d made his own Jackson Pollock rubber shirt with some random spurts of paint. (“Random? That’s Art, mate!”) The resulting riot of colour made me feel a bit drab in fetish monotone.

Although Club Rub’s Kim certainly had no problem looking stylish and slinky in black. I overheard that the Cockney Knees Up night is unlikely to be repeated, not because no-one liked it, quite the contrary, just because it requires so much planning. Those of us whose efforts are restricted to occasionally managing to stay upright should remember how much work club organisers put in.

Hostess Miranda was oozing sensuality as always. I bought her a double gin and tonic (in itself newsworthy) and asked what she would like to see featured in this piece. She replied ‘your cock’. Well, I wouldn’t like readers to feel shortchanged so I will just say that this evening was extremely enjoyable, as cheering as one of Miranda’s smiles and as wild as one of Alan’s belly laughs.

Some say the dungeon play is not as extreme as at certain clubs but then I don’t go to a club to see perverts fisting each other. I can get that at home. One guy/girl even came over from Amsterdam for the evening so if it’s pervier than the notorious Dutch hotspot Club Smack must be doing something right..

Like Club Rub, if you arrive without friends you will soon find some. The covered smoking area outside collected some serious conversationalists. Well, it was serious until Squiggle turned up and made me guffaw, not the done thing outside as the neighbours may complain, worth remembering if someone is standing in front of the notice informing revelers to be considerate.

Some fetish guys look like black binbags left out for collection and some look like sex toys for discerning women. Squiggle looked dapper, perhaps helped by being handsome to start out with. I said it was a shame that the more dangerous forms of erotic asphyxiation were becoming more prevalent. It would be nice to see less of it. “Don’t hold your breath,” said Squiggle. We then agreed that non-erotic asphyxiation was the best way to deal with Gordon Brown.

Tank Girl was enthusing about her man’s light up boots, an excellent accessory if you’ve lost your Lord and Master. According to the ever effervescent TG, fetching and fizzy as always, you only need crawl around until you sight the blinking boots.

Eva Vortex, a gorgeous woman who is also more of a man than most of us, was purring like a pussycat over her latest conquest, an unassuming man who is apparently packing some serious heat in his trousers. As Goddess Eva is stacking a pretty impressive weapon herself, and has tested quite a few in her time, we may take her word on this matter. A unique combination of heavenly beauty and earthly depravity she has some serious body art and an awesome eye for fashion. Check her website at Eva-Vortex.com. Among the many hot clips on her site is a vid where she pauses while fisting some lucky lad to blow a kiss at the camera: you won’t see many lovelier faces.

Kimmy Bear looked especially cute. I’ve always liked her ‘serious glasses on a fun person’ image and if I start on her pretty face and how alluring her pert bottom looked in skimpy knickers LFS will need to buy more bandwidth.

Miss P, sexy and amusing as ever, one of the few bloggers worth reading, was with her handsome geezer, Roo. I never met a nasty Australian and he was no exception. Someone ribbed me for having a hat made out of kangaroo leather, or maybe it was its Crocodile Dundee name, the Jacaroo. Maybe kangaroos aren’t chic but there aren’t any better looking black leather cowboy hats. Unpretentious good value - just like Club Smack.

Perhaps I left it a little late for finding play partners but I still managed to have my impudent rump smacked soundly by a lovely black girl, a fetish virgin who was a little shocked at the imprint it left. She’s coming back so it will be interesting to see, over a few years, if she turns into an imperious dignity Domme or remains a human being first and foremost. Absolute power may often corrupt but we can console ourselves with Club Smack’s Third Birthday.

Congratulations, and here’s to many more.