Drifting at a rate of 56cms annually away from the UK and towards the Azores. Trying desperately to weigh the country down but nothing seems to be working. Undersea cables to all major west coast ports in the UK have done little to stem the drift. But that’s not the worst of it. Some people blame the children…

Things have been a little rough here since signing all intellectual and property rights to my kids; ages 12, 10 and 3. They promptly sold all my guitars and made all of us adults live on the trampoline. It’s cold, but on wet nights we’re allowed to sleep under it. Bless them.

Daily rations consist of half a cup of Choco Pops (a crude imitation of Rice Crispies covered with a chocolate-type substance which tastes cheap as shit), 200ml of Coke, some crusts and leftovers of peanut-butter sandwiches and 1 fishfinger in the evenings. I saw a picture of an apple the other day; I haven’t seen a real one in six months. I miss chicken.

Sometimes the Red Cross come and visit the compound, which has now grown to 7 adults with 12 children guarding us; we’re warned to be on our best behaviour while the inspectors are there or consequences will be dire once they depart. The kids sit on the edge of the roof like vultures overlooking everything while the inspectors inspect.

One time I tried to smuggle a note to one of them asking for UN intervention, but the note was intercepted and after they left, for a whole hour afterward I was forced to watch in through the living room window from the trampoline as the children emptied the entire contents of my drinks cabinet into a small paddling pool on the living room floor before forcing the dog to swim around it, chasing a roast chicken (which had been cooked by them especially for the occasion) pulled by my youngest with a rope made from a guitar lead worth €50. That was the first night I cried.

I have to go now. I can hear that Scooby Doo is just finishing, and boredom will set in soon; which means only one thing – time for Hunt the Grown Ups