At this point I would like to make an observation. I frequently find when looking at a fellow human being that I get a sudden flash of an image of how these people will look when they are much elder. The young features of a bus driver will suddenly distort into the grizzled lines of an aging alcoholic. That fine young girl I pass every morning on the way to the Post Office suddenly looks like she’s carrying the sagging facial flesh of a fourty year old with seventeen kids. What I am trying to say is that often I can’t help but imagine everyone I see as they will look in twenty, thirty, forty years. It is never a pretty sight and puts me right off any further commitment to them. I know this is foolish as I too will end up wrinkly, saggy, incontinent and dribbling (Yes, it is true. Those who know me by sight will find this very hard to believe but I insist it will happen. Probably.) but I cannot help myself. I have too much empathy of the crumbly nature of mankind.


Anyway, all of which is to explain why I left Woodyz with only Vlad. All the babes, in the dour red light of the stage, looked like my ninety year old Granny Twinky. Also, I knew that the additional unplanned weight of fucking tinned Kalamares would mean that my Stealth Cessna wouldn’t be able to get above 300 feet even if I had wanted and with a gaggle of gorgeous Bulgarian broads on board as well, we wouldn’t make it past Switzerland. Back at the cabbage field Vlad and I punched each other goodbye and I gave him a good hard boot right in his balls to make it quite clear that I held no bad feelings for the futile mission he had made me make. He drove off across the field and through a hedge and into what sounded like deep water. This reminded me that drinking and driving was slightly safer than drinking and flying, and so in a moment of inebriated clarity I ate two cabbages to help me sober up. They must have helped as by the time I woke up I was flying across the lush green fields of Blightly.