2002-12-08 - 4:50 p.m.

Contrary to popular belief, confession is not good for the soul, but it does make great TV.

People often say to me, "How did you get this number?" As I reassure them that they were merely selected at random from the data held on our computers here at PK HQ, they then say, Pablo, your journal is essentially meaningless guff, peppered with dull incidents that you attempt to make funny by inserting phrases like 'front bottom'. We know nothing of the real you, since you hide behind the coward�s shield of misleading detail and prosaic flim-flammery � where�s the substance, the feeling and, moreover, the bar?

True, I have never really used these pages to inflict my sorry confessionals on you, reflect on the essential meaninglessness of existence, ruminate on the crushing void of my debilitating loneliness, or express my fears for humanity, not to mention my career prospects. For this, you should be grateful, but in the sprit of sharing and everyone�s general disinterest, I will allow you to see the man behind the curtain. Inspired by (i.e. readily willing to copy) several others who effortlessy write me off the page on a daily basis, I invite you, the reader (or person who has clicked through from a Google search on �Scooby Doo panties� � hi there!) to ask me anything you like. E-mail through the link below my gleaming robots, or leave a question in the guestbook, about anything you like, from my feelings on globalisation to how much I spend on fishfood to what style of heels I think might be favoured in the spring fashion collections.

Or don�t. It�s up to you, really.