Ten Bottles of Jack on the Wall...
2003-01-29 . 10:43 p.m.

So then. Fletch has gone the US.

Shall I examine my emotional state? Shall I pine for my best friend - off living it large in the New World? Shall I create a poignant poem lamenting his leaving?

Nah. Fuck it. I'm going to get drunk and raise a glass to the son-of-a-bitch.

I've been raising the glass a fair bit recently (my fourth bottle of Jack in...hmmm....let's see...five days) and still feel none the worse for wear. Sleeping four hours a night and drinking profusely seems to be so ingrained in my life now that I simply function. Like the Duracell bunny of bad habits.

I will ask you all a favour - I will be mostly lonely for the next three weeks. I don't intend to become a maudlin shite over this period so I want y'all to entertain my sorry English ass (and shout at me if I turn into a big mincer).

I'll probably write something later on depending on my state of mind (i.e. if there is any left).

with love and blondeness,

Paul xXx