19th January 2018
I woke up in the trunk of a car being driven by a couple of swarthy sailors who had taken to agreeing to all manner of nefarious work to secure their moist passage back to that fair old emerald isle of Luxembourg.
    “Lo, you inflated swine!” I cried, like a man trapped in a cage of his own imagined marzipan.
    And yet, there came no reply. I wondered if that was because I didn’t actually know what “Lo” meant.
    Then, to my thrusting amazement, the trunk was opened and who was standing there, greeting me with a Cornish pastie and a look both wounded and forthcoming? That’s right: the man standing behind you right now!
    Only joking.
    Or am I?!
    Yes.