Here's how I became rich. I slagged off other writers and got loads of publicity. No, seriously, I stayed in on a Friday. The cheques have been coming in ever since. I have a large flat and plenty of money. When I want to go abroad I go downstairs. Tonight I am going to Finland.

London is dangerous. I don't know why nobody has thought of having more policemen. I'm sorry about these solipsistic observations but I really don't have a personality of my own, so the best I can come up with is a series of dreary aper¿us Tibor has been saving up.

I bet you haven't got it yet. I don't go out at all. I didn't really go to Finland, I just own the flat downstairs and friends come over and pretend. What an amazing literary conceit! Oh, you did get it. How long ago? Surely it wasn't that obvious.

I've got a letter from Walter. He died 10 years ago. Could something be about to happen? I'll ask Audley the debt collector to find out.

* * *

I once took a job working in a live sex club in Barcelona. "Do you think you'll be able to manage it, Oceane?" asked Jorge. "Yes," I replied. Life's full of dull inconsequential conversations like that, don't you think?

Rutger always reads the same newspaper over and over again to remind himself that nothing ever happens. Does anything ever happen in your books, Tibor? "How would I know?" he replied, "I'm only up to page 116."

Walter ignores me and Heidi has just made a police helicopter crash by looking at it. Hamish is lying dead at the bottom of the pool. Merv's been shot. Moany Patricia's just died in the pool. Now Monica. Guess what? Jorge filled in the pool and a Friesian cow landed on his head. I expect you're wondering what the connections are. I am too, because there aren't any. It's just wacky.

No one cared when I left Barcelona. I missed my flight because I wanted one last fuck with Juan and when I got to the airport I found the plane had crashed. That sort of thing happens to me the whole time.

* * *

"I signed up as a mercenary in Yugoslavia and I was about to be shot by Roberto when my Mum turned up. War is a disappointment," said Audley. "What's this got to do with anything?" I asked. "Ask Tibor," he shrugged.

* * *

"I've been ripped off and Bruno still won't give me Walter's letter," moaned Audley. "It's the last time I go to Micronesia for you." "Never mind," I answered. "You look good on webcam."

* * *

I've just heard from Walter. The letter was his way of trying to get me out the house. "Roberto's going to kill me," Audley wailed. I'd better leave the house, then.

The digested read ... digested

Tibor and Oceane, really