Regular readers of Lunch with the FT like it when there is liquor on the bill — much less abstemious, much less corporate than daily life. I was imagining their delight, then, if Armistead Maupin turned up at our rendezvous in Mayfair in artistic defiance of the law with a joint. Maupin (pronounced "maw-pin", not "moh-pan") is, of course, not only the chronicler of the poly-sexual glories and tragedies of San Francisco life since the 1970s, but a marijuana connoisseur to boot. Anna Madrigal, the transgender landlady at the centre of his nine Tales of the City novels, grows weed in her garden, naming different strains after fierce women. But when I arrive early at Little Social on Pollen Street, a formerly filthy cut-through in the heart of London’s smartest post code, Maupin is already there and the most intoxicating thing on display is an espresso. Not only that, he tells me he has just had a late and large breakfast. We have quickly gone from Stoned with the FT to Amuse-Bouche wit...

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