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As I step out of Oxford Circus tube station to meet Millbridge, I get the feeling that I have been unwittingly plunged into the early nineties and an episode of Challenge Anneka.

This is largely because of a message on my phone from Philip: 鈥淕o in the pub, find a booth, we鈥檙e at the back. We鈥檝e sat by some mirrors, so it looks like there are twice as many of us as there actually are.鈥�

At this point, I鈥檓 not entirely sure whether this is a deliberate tactic to disorientate me or a well meaning attempt to amplify the bonhomie. The rather surreal experience of seeing everyone I鈥檓 meeting twice is compounded by Mike, who turns and asks if we can all have nicknames for the evening.

Stuart 鈥淏endy鈥� Roberts already has one, and it swiftly emerges that it was well earned. 鈥淚 was on television,鈥� he says enthusiastically. 鈥淓pisode four of Seaside Rescue鈥�.

鈥淒on鈥檛 feed his ego; he just got a bit seasick,鈥� says Graham disparagingly, but it鈥檒l take more than that to put Stuart off his stride.

Stuart, you see, is a diver specialising in the exploration of wrecks. On one occasion he got separated from his dive group off the coast of Dorset. He then became worried that he鈥檇 run out of air, and made an overrapid ascent, and had to be winched aboard a rescue helicopter and flown to a recompression chamber where he spent six hours getting the nitrogen bubbles out of his blood.

This was a small yet extremely painful price to pay for the ensuing celebrity.

Stuart supports his story by producing a treasured memento: a page lead in the Harlow Star, preserved in a plastic wallet. 鈥淭his is me in the local paper! I also got recognised in Tesco,鈥� he says, before adding quietly 鈥渂y my next-door neighbour.鈥�

Nobody else around the table can quite muster this kind of claim to fame, despite Philip鈥檚 insistence that he was Ian McShane鈥檚 stunt double in Lovejoy (the resemblance is, indeed, uncanny).

Only Victoria comes close 鈥� she recently abseiled down a water tower for charity. The only fly in her ointment was the 92 year old who did it at the same time, thereby grabbing the fickle attention of the Harlow Star鈥檚 newshounds. 鈥淚f it wasn鈥檛 for that, I鈥檇 have made it into the paper 鈥� although maybe I should just have had an accident,鈥� she says, with a meaningful glance at Stuart.

One extreme sport in which she certainly is excelling, however, is in the Russian roulette of the pub鈥檚 cocktails. Two hours in, while most of are sticking to pints of lager, she courageously starts attacking the kind of curious pink concoction that made Alice grow 10 feet tall.

鈥淚t鈥檚 a Finish in the Pink 鈥� just vodka, white wine, raspberry, and strawberry,鈥� she says, a little defensively perhaps. Philip observes that she鈥檚 got at least two of her five a day. 鈥淲ine and vodka,鈥� agrees Graham.

Ladies and gentlemen, it seems any bets on an early end to the evening are well and truly off.