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Then the crew livestreams the delighted Twitter martyr’s Reservoir Dogs strut through to the VIP room—a carpeted ballroom on the seventh floor of hell full of manic trolls and smug neo-fascists from every slimy corner of the internet. And there is Daryush Valizadeh, also known as Roosh V, self-styled leader in the “neo-masculinity” movement, author of a suspicious stack of sex travel guides and headline-hunting nano-celebrity in the world of ritualised internet misogyny. I have opportunity to observe this because he puts himself right up in my personal space, blocking my view of the room with his T-shirt, and proceeds, messily and at length, to tell me what my problem is.

Over by the bar, Geert Wilders, the Dutch far-right leader, is having a nice chat with two republicans of the sort who look like they’ve been poured into their suits. Number one: my haircut, and he’s telling me this as a man, makes my face look round. Number two: I seek to destroy the nuclear family, and disturb traditional relationships between men and women.

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Milo Yiannopoulos is a charming devil and one of the worst people I know.

I have seen the death of political discourse reflected in his designer sunglasses. We met four years ago, before he was the self-styled “most fabulous supervillain on the internet,” when he was just another floppy-haired right-wing pundit and we were guests on opposing sides of a panel show whose topic I don’t remember and can’t be bothered to look up.

He’s here for the same reason I am: Milo invited him.

What surprises me about Roosh is that he seems to be a true believer.

Afterwards we got hammered in the green room and ran around the BBC talking about boys. Since that day, there is absolutely nothing I have been able to say to Milo to persuade him that we are not friends.