‘Allo again, mates! It is I, Peter Doherty, who woke up and decided that a shower and shampoo could wait because a bath usually lasts me a fortnight. Seeing as I bathed before the Glasto festival and even took a mudbath as well, I popped out of bed and ran here like bloody hell with my suitcase loaded to the brim with heroin . . . oh bullocks . . . I meant to say that I brought plenty of pens to sign these journals for me fans. Likewise, I reckon that if I were beastly, my fans would let me know by failing to touch me scrummy bum.

This is bloody marvelous day, for I have arrived at a wee bookshop on the East End called the Red Snapper to sign me published journals. I’ll have you know that I chose this little nook in the gutter for its name, although generally speaking, my cracking Kate usually does the dirty talking in our relationship. More than once she’s gotten fruity with me, and when I cannot oblige, she takes the piss out of me. Then after forty winks in the rubbish, and when I’m feeling quite knackered, I’ll knock on her door and ask if she’ll give me ten quid.

It works every time, mates.

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