I've just returned from George's and, thank christ, I never laid a finger on the Thai.

I'm a bottle of brandy under, my liver on fire, but my friendship intact. I wish for nothing now but to spread out on the cool grass of my garden, to close my eyes and wait for Helen's nipples to descend and enter my open mouth.

Instead, I shall have a cigarette on the terrace then it's lights off, a quick wank under my duvet.

I shall wake in the morning.

With or without soul, life goes on.