Well that woke you all up…

You are weak… try saving this for later. You know you want to, but it will reel you in, the poor prose, grammatical errors and bad spilling. Or is it the fact that I might once again be giving something away for nothing!

Let me tell you, it backfired last time, so don’t worry, lightening doesn’t strike twice!

Although it does make me wonder what I should give away next after the jeans, jars of Nutella?

I would, but then none of you would be able to get into the jeans!

So, I am back, why?

In October I stepped back from the world to see how you would fare on your own.

For four months I stayed away, took the training wheels off the bike to see if you could ride it alone.

But in this short period; you gave me more Trump tweets, Christmas, Australian flu, the Pitti peacock, a new contract for Mezit Ozil, and snow in the Alps at Christmas.

However, I felt I had to return when the French, the home of haute cuisine gave us the ‘Nutella Riots’.

Yes, the French rioting in supermarkets because the price of a jar of Nutella had been reduced from €4.50 to €1.40, no longer the culinary upper hand I feel, they had resorted to actual physical violence over a jar of hazelnut and chocolate spread. The world has gone nuts, I felt compelled to cross back through the gates of Hades.

So, I stepped back in again before you did something even I couldn’t fix, like kilts as a fashion statement.

You have the appearance of free will, the choice of which car to buy, which drink to have at lunch, but when it comes to the important things in life like putting your clothes on, I have had to step back in.

Spare a thought for poor Perseus who put his back out bending down to put on a pair of Oxford shoes with his jeans, we all know that it should only be loafers… He is now flat on his back in his swan neck bed all because of the wrong shoes, like poor Zoolander, unable to turn right.

The Tories on the other hand have turned right and just kept going, it’s even got El Faragio in a tizzy! Trampling on his daisies. Boris couldn’t keep his powder dry and was out of the blocks making more promises he probably won’t be able to keep 100 million for this, 100 million for Sanchez, whilst Govie, Govie, Govie is trying not to sip from the cold glass of Chardonnay in front of him, lest he let slip his plans for world domination.

Meanwhile, it has become increasingly obvious to me that as I have matured, the powers with which I have been bestowed with have put me in a league of my own. 

Those of you still hankering to come back as me will realise that the queue now stretches all the way to Tower Bridge, one or two of you have even pitched tents.

Let me, let you into a secret, I am not a prototype, despite the manifest flaws of the Nexus 6 and 7, I am the new fully functional Nexus X model. Move over Harrison and Ryan; I am Wunderwuzzi!

But, I will admit to being weak, I know, hard to believe, but I do have my Kryptonite. Like a moth to a flame I was drawn back to Ibiza. I had hoped the cold turkey would last until next Christmas, then Skyscanner sent me a price alert, it tipped me over the edge. Without a second thought, the tickets were booked.

What had I done, given in to targeted advertising? Off go the location services, privacy settings cranked up to the max, and I have removed the Sim card from the back of my neck. Try and find me now!

Heavens, what would I be forced/tempted to buy next, wait, hang on, what else had I been eyeing up on the internet? No, perhaps I shouldn’t answer that one.

Anyway, more powerful than Diana, daughter of Zeus, I marvel at the skills I have inherited; the world says jump, I ask how high?

Ask me to walk on water; I say ‘Walk a mile in my shoes’.

Those of you who spend some time in the shop will have experienced my strange and phantasmagorical tales, of places far and wide, like Walter Mitty, I live a parallel universe, where time is elastic, and I dream of electric sheep.

One of my favourite escapes on Ibiza is to run from Ibiza Town along the beach in Talamanca and over the top of the hill in Jesus, through the woods and down to the deserted beach at S’Estanyol. There I disrobe, lay my clothes to dry in the warm sunshine whilst I swim in the warm waters of the bay.

Perfect for testing out my ‘Wunderwuzzi’ credentials I thought. I neatly laid my clothes out and walked the length of the jetty. I half expected to hear the sound of harps, gentle choral music and be drawn to a bright light.

I paused briefly before stepping off, something was wrong, rather than gliding out across the sea, my foot broke the surface, and I tumbled head first into 3 feet of water. Surfacing I realise that the water wasn’t nearly salty enough, not up to Dead Sea standards anyway, has no one heard of health and safety?

I also noticed that I was surrounded by little red orbs dancing in the waves, I was in the all-together and these were jellyfish. Luckily for me the water at this time of year is very, very cold and any chance of me being stung vaguely anywhere important had literally shrunk to nothing, I climbed back onto to the jetty unscathed, tail between my legs, an unstung hero…

I will let you into another little secret, Superman must be rueing the day that he passed on the knowledge of Muography to a couple guys from Tokyo. They appear to have found our hiding place, he can’t blame me as it wasn’t me who blabbed for a change, but we’ll have to find a new spot.

Suppie and I used to hang out inside the pyramid of Khufu, safe in the knowledge that no one knew we were there. He’d wrestle with the problems of the universe, I’d be laying out razor blades to sharpen, as once used they weren’t the sharpest tool in the box.

Having said that; after reading the ‘Riddle of the Pyramids’ in my teens, I have been using the same blade ever since and OK the bleeding is a little unfortunate, but once I’ve swathed myself in the bandages I don’t look so bad, and it has proffered me one or two rather profitable, incognito film roles.