It’s 7.21pm on a Saturday night and I’ve just been accosted by the third restaurant waiter grabbing his crotch and humping the air in the space of six paces.

I’m slightly stunned as I’m just in jeans, a big jumper (even though it’s unseasonably hot) and a pair of tired Reebok trainers, struggling along with my work case on one shoulder and my handbag clasped tight under the other arm.

In one hand I have May and David’s’ wedding party invitation (showing the mistress of Festival of Sins and her man in glitter and corsets, with David on a leash). And in the other I have my trusty, elderly Sony-Ericsson, just in case.

I’m on Brick Lane, searching for this wedding reception at a venue called 93 Feet East, and feeling extremely bloody glad I didn’t wear my latex gown up to town as I thought I might.

I’m worrying that the constant interruptions are going to make me late, as tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I have been asked to be the dessert for a reception of hungry, fetishistic wedding guests.

Finally finding 93 Feet East, I get my hand stamped and make my way up to the dressing room in the boudoir-style venue, where a thoroughly beautiful May is being laced into her custom black and red latex gown.

This ensemble, by Kaori’s Latex Dreams, makes her look seven parts fearsome dominatrix, two parts Disney fantasy queen and one part blushing new bride. (Only one part as it’s hard to look toooo innocently blushing when your bottom cleavage is — marvellously tastefully, may I add — corsetted and on show.)

David is equally as dashing in a custom latex red and black suit made by Paul of Lacing Lilith, immediately identifiable by the trademark popper buttons and high waist trousers that Paul is famous for.

Ultimately, May and David look perfect, aided and abetted by the fabulous and unflusterable make-up artist Sammm Agnew, who is, of course, working hard as usual. In fact, it is she who also has the job of turning me into a cake at 10:30 tonight.

So there’s time for a drink before I have to get my kit off and lie on a dining table in front of the open windows of a brightly lit room, right opposite the busiest Brick Lane pub you ever saw.

Oh. Good.

I have to lie on a dining table in front of the open windows of a brightly lit room, right opposite the busiest Brick Lane pub you ever saw 

Of course, in Sammm’s capable palms, it all becomes rather easy, as she enlists people to usher guests back into the main room while I strip off in privacy, which I find very entertaining.

These people are going to eat off me anyway, so why pretend false modesty? However, it does make setting me up a little easier, and I’m quite grateful that (as far as I know) no one sees my bottom.

Firstly, I’m laid out on this dining table, chuckling uncontrollably to myself at the situation as I see Veronika Valentine, Sammm and assorted others standing above me with their hands full of cake, Love Hearts, chocolate bars and truffles.

Sammm sticks my ballet boots (a gift from a lover on my last birthday) onto my feet and places a black leather bullwhip (May and David’s door gift to their guests) next to my hand, rather like a fetish Barbie in a box. When this is done, I see the cake-artists above me nod — and I get covered with what must be about 30 pounds of sweeties.

For a moment I think I’ll be buried alive, but frankly, when it occurs to me what a good way to go that would be, I stop fussing. And I stop laughing — because, if I displace another Kinder Egg that Sammm has so carefully placed, I think she might slap me or maybe choke me with a marshmallow. (Teasing! I love Sammm, she wouldn’t really… I think..)

The icing on the cake is the little red grape Sammm pops between my lips just before the first guests are ushered through for their dessert. Yum.

Half an hour later, everyone who wants to has had a little nibble, innumerable photos have been taken and I’m free to be rolled into a tablecloth and have the excess confections removed from my skin.

Obviously, since chocolate melts at body heat, I’m still very sticky and I take great pleasure in grabbing a towel and streaking through the corridors completely nude, except for chocolate sauce, on my way to the ladies with my leopard print towel. Only my friend Dee really cops an eyeful and I’m sure he doesn’t mind!

Once there I’m free to ‘’scrub down, soldier’’, get back into my latex ballgown and make my way to the bar for a very, very well earned tequila shot. Or seven.

A marvellous party, with marvellous people, wonderful venue, impressive organisation, and a fabulous first aid team for when I finally fall down the stairs at 2am (I don’t need first aid — they just think I do).

Congratulations May and David. Now, who’s getting married next, please? Need a cake? 

A marvellous party, with marvellous people, wonderful venue, and a fabulous first aid team for when I finally fall down the stairs at 2am