The vessel was basically a floating den for the rich and famous, fuelled by hard booze and pumping house music.
I recall sleeping in my cabin below deck one night when the door burst open and a dishevelled young couple apologised before raking up a couple of lines of white powder, snorting them loudly then vacating the tiny room in fits of laughter.
Sea Breezes (vodka, cranberry and grapefruit juice) and bottles of Perrier Jouet French champagne were being necked at an alarming rate as an endless procession of pre-screening bashes and after parties were rolled out each night.
I had a memorable encounter with the charming Scottish film star Ewan McGregor while he enjoyed a few days' R and R on the boat.
He was parked up on the bow deck with some mates enjoying a quiet drink under the stars and ordered another bottle of bubbles.
I began to open it with careful attention when McGregor gestured for me to give it some drama.
I obliged, jumping on to their table and shaking the bottle violently, spilling champagne fizz like a cascading waterfall over the side.
Yelping across the marina, I felt like a Formula One driver who'd just taken the chequered flag.
But caught up in the moment, I forgot about the customers' drinks, all of which tipped over as I bashed about on their table.
The bottle was nearly emptied from my antics before McGregor politely asked me to cease and desist.
"Alright mate - we want to drink some of that."
It brought me back to reality.
Fair enough too - French champaign doesn't come cheap.
Even global super stars don't want to waste a perfectly good drop.
Speaking of which, while working in another bar in London, I once came face to face with acclaimed Oasis rocker Noel Gallagher.
He was dressed in leather and looked like a haggard corpse.
It was about 11am.
"What can I get you mate?" I asked.
"Gimme 52 pints of lager."
"Really?" I replied.
"Na, just make it a gin and tonic."
