At King's in Jesolo, 2004 Arlene Ang Disco lights, stale perfume: the dancefloor fogs. I stumble towards the bar for gin and tonic. Here's to making 28 euros last: forget you're nearing forty, crunch the ice and gulp an off-key hum. Under pink beams, a boy grazes my shoulder. He wants a match, gestures with a cigarette. I flip open my Zippo, offer him blue Gauloises. In less than an hour, he's coughing rock 'n' roll in my ear. A few feet away, my husband dances with another man. Inevitably, their paunches bump.