I read all novels with a sense of despair. The words have already been written, the clauses defined. This is true of even the most pot-bellied stinker of a cut-throat Bohemian. The truth is out there for the public to devour like so many freshly cooked lobster based cocktails. I wonder if you notice my lack of definition there. Feel free to regard the public as a lobster based cocktail, if it pleases you. Good luck to them. The truth is most certainly not in here, in the words. The words are not out there you see. Most of the words I have already gathered to me, not that they are enough really. Perhaps you will understand why it was necessary, and even why it was not enough in a little while. Or perhaps not. I think that in the end that will be up to you. As for the truth, I must warn you that it has closed the bedroom window silently and sodded off to the pub for a quick one or three.

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am not the devil. At least not any more than you are. You will meet the devil in this book, and even be informed of various techniques of dealing with him. Myself. It is an interesting thought. In general, I do not dare disturb the universe. I prefer to live my life of quiet desperation, churning out bad love poetry and the occasional rant against anything that more than ninety percent of the population are in favour of at any one time. Who doesn't? This keeps me quite busy, largely because once more than one person decides to be in favour of anything the popularity growth rate becomes exponential. And of course, most people have long ago forgotten how to challenge their own assumptions, both the hard held assumptions that are 'Just how life is' (very possibly the single silliest thing that anybody has every said), and the spontaneous assumptions made without any attempt to actually understand the situation whenever they come up against something new. I am in fact glad that I'm not the devil. The job would be so easy as to become laughably boring in about three and a half days. I really shouldn't complain. I like my life now. Do not ask 'What is it?' I did know once, but I decided to forget twice, and was rather successful. It seems that now I must remember, recent events prodding me in the ear as they do. There was the women in blue and the man in brown. Before them the couple, both dressed in white. I believe that this means something. I do not want to begin this journey.

(I have a similar feeling in art galleries, when listening to music, and watching construction workers. The despair I mentioned. Not when watching a fashion show. I do not know why this should be so. It seems that fashion should affect me the most. Perhaps it is fitting).

I said decided to forget. It is an interesting choice, I expect you are thinking. Very clever and subtle. Or perhaps not really. Once I would have applauded it on just those grounds. Now it seems just so much wanking. Against the ever enclosing night, if that sort of thing impresses you. You'd think it would fall off, really. Such levels of abuse can't be healthy.

Decided. Rather than the sub-conscious stepping in and drawing down the final shutters. No matter how many cigars Herr Freud (is it Herr in Austria?) gets through, you're not going to make me see this as a matter for the id. Ego all the way baby. Super-ego when the light is right. Don't be alarmed.

Forget all that for now. The show must go on. You catch me at a disadvantage: all my clothes are in the machine. I wear pink shorts and a Hard Rock cafe T-shirt. Yes, I have been to the restaurant featured, that particular outlet I mean. Read it for yourself. I often wonder how many people wear T-shirts advertising products they've never used and places they've never been. It seems to me that it must be a very great number. People like to look impressive after all. What's more impressive than a Nepalese Planet Hollywood shirt? Yes, I've been to that one as well. I didn't get the shirt though. I've been to all of them. No I am not just making an hilarious joke in the vein of they're all the same, been to one you've been to all ha ha ha. They're actually all subtly different. The Nepalese one has the head of that sherpa in a glass case, what's his name, you know the one I mean. Always wore that head. How many fast food restaurants can say that? Hat.

It is true that people like to label themselves by labelling their clothing. Rather that they use the labels on their clothes to label themselves. In fact, that they allow the labels of clothes to label them. Especially the people who only wear unbranded clothing. That's the biggest label of all, as it is invisible and thus much easier to see. It's all a matter of security. Insecurity. The more secure you are, the less you need worry about being branded. If you were completely secure as a person you could go around nude with Calvin Klein printed in bold across your chest, and your true personality and name would still shine through. Very few people can pull this off.

Clothing with no labels on it allows the individual concerned to impress his or her own personality on their clothes with a magic marker. In invisible ink. This is because they have weak personalities and as such are terrified of being overwhelmed by branded clothing to the point that they lose themselves. It is only in clothes that bear no name that they can remember their own.

Heavily branded clothing should only be worn by people who know exactly who they are. Otherwise, they might not be. I can say only that I know this to be the truth. I do not know why I know this. I do not know what the truth is. This is not the truth. My name is Peter Bowman. That is not the truth. My name is Paris. You can read it for yourself, it's written on my chest.

I am afraid that I digress. Not of course that there is anything at all wrong with digression. I am not a taxi driver after all, and hence have no particular obligation to take you by the most direct route. Shall we go via the seaside? It's always nice at this time of year, with the ice cream and the striped tents, the pony rides and sand castles. Let me tell you a story. First though, please promise to call me in the morning.