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Well it's been almost seven months since I've been away. In that time, I have embarked upon some deep soul searching in the East. It was like 'Batman Begins' when Christian Bale pisses off to the Himalayas for seven years to learn about himself, except I already knew about myself, and I didn't go in for any of that martial arts nonsense. And apparently I was the first Englishman out there in ninety-five years to get by without sandals.

Given then that I already knew about myself, I decided to learn about everyone else, and the conclusion I rapidly came to is that the world really is full of cliched cunts who really think they're the goods and like to stick stuff up their noses. Just in case you 're not aware they're cunts, some of them take to wearing silly hats.

I arrived at that conclusion in early October, so the subsequent six and a half months were spent trying to figure out how I could get back to London from Tibet. Not easy people. And I asked myself why am I so bothered about what other people are like? And I haven't really come up with an answer, other than pretentious people, of whom there are many, really make me want to cry, and I'm not one for crying. I haven't cried since catching my top lip in the yellow capsule of a Kinder Egg surprise back in April 1982. I think it was at that point dad realised his only son was a bit of a dandy.

If you're reading this and you're one of those pretentious people, I want you to take a good long hard look at yourself. If there is an item of clothing in your posession that you suspect is really pushing it, the Pete Docherty hat, a tie, that kind of thing, bin it. I want photos sent to me proving you have binned these items. And lose that wrap of coke. It's not cool. You're not big. You're just tribal. You can't think for yourself. Join me. Take my hand. Be a free-thinking individual.

Don't go to Tibet though. The women out there really smell.

© Disappointed of West Egg 2006. Do not reproduce without permission.