Stacy and the late bill in Greenwich

Stacy is tall, 176 cm, and makes no effort to hide it; flat boots or heels, she picks whichever the night deserves. Slim, her near-black brown hair worn long, her brown eyes missing nothing, she dresses for nightlife with a metallic edge: a silver slip, a black leather jacket, one bold ring, eyeliner sharp enough to count as a statement. She looks like someone with somewhere better to be, then spends the entire evening proving she would rather be with you.

Bold and spontaneous, Stacy says yes first and plans second, which makes her the natural choice at short notice. Her English is quick, dry and funny. She shoots street photography on a battered camera that goes almost everywhere with her. Winters she snowboards whenever there is a cheap flight and a mountain at the end of it. Stand-up comedy is her other habit; she goes to open mic nights to spot the next big name before anyone else does.

In Greenwich she makes for Up the Creek on Creek Road, the long-running comedy club where the late bill is rowdy, sharp and occasionally brilliant. She sits close enough to be picked on and never minds when it happens. Afterwards the camera comes out: the Cutty Sark lit against the dark, the empty market lanes, the river glittering towards Canary Wharf. She shoots strangers' shadows, never faces, and holds up the best frame for you on the way home.

Stacy lives in Chelsea, around forty-five minutes east by cab, and short-notice requests are welcome most nights. The Greenwich page lists hotels by the river and on the Peninsula; rates spells out the lengths, and booking replies at any hour.