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Aside from the queue, the sauna, which Americans would phone a “bathhouse”, appears just as it always has: a boxy, blue, three-story construction, with a busy car park in the front. The queue is remarkable because even at busy times the sheer size of the place – with hundreds of lockers, three stories, a pool, two Jacuzzis, three shower rooms, a lounge, three saunas, two steam rooms, a dark room, and a couple of dozen confidential cabins – is enough to residence high numbers.

I interrupt for a minute to look at the scene ahead, to consider what has taken place here over the years. Thousands possess met and had sex. Some establish love. Two men died (in 2006 and 2012). Several were caught in a fire (in March 2011, more of which later). Men have wept and slept here, strung out after days of partying.

Others have indulged confidential desires before going home to their wives. Justin Fashanu, the first and only premiership footballer to come out, spent his last night here before killing himself. Some have had their first, tentative homosexual experiences in this converted warehouse, nestled in between Amazing Eastern Street and Bishopsgate, as hipsters, shoppers, and business folk pass by unaware.

With such a hothou