In this, the latest, high octane ride through the rancid quagmire that is his life, Mr Sloane reflects on absence, abstinance, absinthe and Ted Bovis...

"...Ah, hello once again dear hearts! I trust that things have been well since my last interventions and moral platidtudes..? Yes, I know it's been a long time but - believe it or not - I have been busy! Yes...it is true...

During these long weeks during which we've been apart, I have been on many fruitless searches for pictures of long forgotten quiz show hosts and sitcom stars...You try and google 'Lenny Bennet' and see what you get!!!

"Why was he doing that?" I hear you gasp..."Who the fuck is Lenny Bennet?" ...No-one knows...But, apparently, someone out there still looks back fondly on Hi-De-Hi and its head of entertainments, Mr Ted Bovis...Look...there he is...Large as life and twice as handsome, as my dear old mum used to say...

Haha!

What Larks Pip!

Anyway...Honestly, I have been doing shit on Dreamweaver - everybodys favourite website making program, and purusing the many, guilty joys that the internet has to offer...

I was also, coincidentally, guilty of suffocating someone...

I also had a hellish journey to Heathrow airport to meet an old friend from Camp Easter Seals-West, and had an evening trying not to look at a Northern girl and her fantastic new boyfriend...Yes...I realise it was a long time ago but I can't seem to let stuff go, me...

...So...oh yes...Absinthe! I'd like some of that...not this pissy shit they flog in trendy winebars in Angel for £6 a shot to media arseholes with fat wallets and small penises...No...I want the Van Gogh-80% proof stuff with the extra wormwood!!! Line 'em up, and let's see them green-eyed faeries...

"Fare thee well, fuckers - I leave you with a heavy heart!" - Richard Nixon, 1974...

love etcetera, sweetcheeks...

Lxxx"

In this, his latest addition, Mr Sloane realises he is on a hiding to nothing concerning certain subjects and is a slave to the childlike urge to put on a cape and run down Howlands
pretending to fly...

"Ah...hello again you yellow bastards!
What's it like to feel useless? Aged and unloved? Mentally lost in a day-glo, 80's gameshow-like-fog of super-marionated nostalgia..?

Do you really want to know..? Wouldn't you rather be off somewhere reading some highbrow bloggers' theories on the morality of suicide bombing, or perusing through the musings of some wealthy, beautiful Asian bint, as she struggles with unrequited love and lust for the latest nokia video phone..?

...I wouldn't blame you...

...Wait a minute...Just who are you anyway..? Haha!

So, yes...this is my latest instalment in a thrilling roller-coaster ride that is this blog...What's it for, I hear you ask...I wish I knew...Well, I'm too disinfranchised and confused to devote any space herein to the pursuit of gaining personal enlightenment or truth...I'm just a fucking liar like you are! You know what I'm talking about...

...I sometimes just think life would be a lot fucking easier if I could just run into a telephone box, turning around while undoing the bottom two or three buttons on my duffle coat, bursting forth with one arm outstretched, coat flying out behind me - secured by the one toggle at the neck - and running down the road looking for old , discarded packets of Marlboro lights that I can pick up and crush in my fist while shouting out in a squeeky, yankee accent;

"Superman says no to cigarettes!"

...but life just ain't that easy is it...Unless you want a lifetime of Electric shock therapy, restaints and administered medication, you've got to pull you socks up, do your buttons up and register with the Inland Revenue...You've got to daily face rejection, disappointment and stare blankly at the face of the old fucker who's stealing your dreams away from you...from right there in front of you...

And all you can do is shrug your shoulders and say; "Oh well!", or "That's life!", or "Oh God, What's the point!"

Still, at least we can look forward to alleviating the pain with alcohol and guilt free sex...or if you ain't getting any, you can copy pictures, drawn when you were a child, of a misshapen lump of a superman and reflect on how prescient and far-sighted you were then...and how grotesque you are now...

"Cast away mere words, for words become stones..." - Haruki Murakami

"I'd give my world for a little piece of pie...fancy a bit?" - John Prescott

Adieu for now, dearhearts...see you in the sky..."