A Confession

My dearest darling Mrs PM,

I hope your trip away is going well.

The cats are missing you – well they were until about five minutes ago, but I will explain that.

You see, I have a confession to make. I’ve had a little accident. I was going to ring you to tell you in person but unfortunately I’ve lost my mobile phone and there is something wrong with the landline.

I’ve spilled some red wine on your brand new white sheepskin rug. I know that you are going to be very angry about it because I appreciate that it cost a lot of money but I think that when I explain how I managed to spill wine on the rug you will understand.

You see, the cat was on fire and red wine was the only liquid available.

I’ve told you that Jasper is too fat and, consequently, too slow so it was no surprise to me that he couldn’t escape quickly enough when the kitchen exploded.


Poppy, your dearest other cat, is svelte and fast and managed to race out of the cat flap as if the hounds of hell themselves were on her tail. At least I hope that’s what happened, though the more I think of it, there wasn’t a cat-shaped hole in the back door was there?

Sadly, Jasper was too slow and the explosion blew him through the newly created hole in the wall and into the lounge. I’ve told you he needs to eat less but you never listen to me.

The cat did his best to avoid me as I chased him around the lounge with the red wine. Have you ever tried to throw red wine on a blazing cat when you are off your head on LSD and cocaine and with half a bottle of vodka and a crazy amount of absinthe in your system? It’s bloody difficult, I can tell you. That’s why there’s red wine over the what's left of walls and settee as well.


Thankfully, the wall through which Jasper flew so gracefully was large enough to accommodate me as I flew through the air with him when the explosion took place.

I was sure that when I put that pizza in the oven I had lit the gas; I wondered why, an hour later, it still hadn’t cooked. It was only when I struck the match to check whether the oven was alight that I realised my mistake. As Jasper and I flew through the lounge wall like two graceful birds, it occurred to me that perhaps I should have checked the pizza sooner, which was bloody annoying since the explosion nuked the pizza - and I'm bloody ravenous and I haven't got a kitchen to cook another pizza.


Fancy forgetting the pizza! I simply can’t help it, my sweet; I’m getting old you see. And the drugs and drink don’t help. When I arrived home an hour ago, I had been out on a massive bender, mixing drugs, drink and debauchery on a wonderful night out. It’s only when you are away, my dear, that I get the chance to let my hair down with the lads.

I didn’t mean to get so drunk; absinthe is lethal I can tell you – it makes you see things. In fact, I mistook a police car for an alien and threw several bricks at it, only realising my mistake when it crashed into a wall. I managed to get away, thankfully, although the policemen seemed very angry as they were chasing me through the streets.

Actually, come to think of it – that must have been when I lost my wallet with all of my money and cards in it.


I’m sure I had it when the brick went through the police car windscreen and hit the officer in the passenger seat. That’s a major blow because it contained around £3000 of my money.

Well, when I say “my” money, I really mean “your” money. You see I withdrew the cash from your bank account. Why? Because I’d run out of my own cash and drugs cost a fortune. My overdraft is only so big. I hope you don't mind.

Hang on – I’ve just got an email.

That’s great – I now know where my mobile phone is. I left it with Big Betty, that prostitute I met at the pub. She says I can pick it up at her pad – and that she may give me a gift. I wonder what she means?

Anyway, I’d better go, because the kitchen and lounge are a complete mess. I think I’ve managed to put the fire out but I can still hear and smell gas. Also, the police and fire brigade are here.

Oh dear!! I recognise that policeman and he recognises me too – it’s the one I hit with a brick. Hang on while I take the laptop upstairs and barricade myself in the bedroom.

There, that’s better. I’ve got the air rifle to defend myself when they break down the door. The policeman is shouting “You’re going down!!!” I wonder what he means?



When you return, I think you had better stay in a hotel for a while as I don’t think I’ll be able to clean up the mess in time. If you want to visit me, I will almost certainly be enjoying the hospitality of Her Majesty’s constabulary. I’m sure the visiting hours are reasonable.

Do you know a good lawyer by the way?

Missing you,

Plastic Mancunian.

P.S. The above is all a pack of lies and a weird episode from my sick and sordid imagination. The confession I have to make is that I have accidentally thrown away your ticket to see Lady Ga Ga. In fact, I think I’ve done you a favour, my sweet.


P.P.S. No pizzas, cats or policemen were harmed in the writing of this post.