Dear, constituents, I write to you now with a final personal message from the bottom of my bottom.
Tomorrow you have a monumental decision to make, unless you live in one of almost all of the UK’s constituencies where your vote is utterly meaningless and all will be as it has been before and ever more.
Due to an administrative error I’m calling Cathy at HQ, I can tell you that I will not be taking up my 99% guaranteed seat at the heart of Westminster on Friday.
Neither will I be making a gratuitous speech talking about now being the time to move forward together, about difficult days and decisions to come, about having the support of the majority of the country, about delivering a Brexit for all, where all can prosper, not just those at the top, and about having the strength to say no if the deal is not in the UK’s interest.
I will also not be breaking any manifesto promises, commitments or pledges just days after being elected.
And why not? Because apparently Brighton is divided into three constituencies, and I am a candidate in none of them.
No, in the coming days I will be paying my extortionate bill at the Brexit-sponsoring hall of despair that is the Bright Helm Wetherspoons, without a single soggy chip refundable in tax-payer expenses.
And, with bags packed, I will be heading, without Cathy, to Brighton in New Zealand, to begin my full throttle campaign to become their 175th, and first non-Mauri, town Mayor.
So, thanks go out to my team, Dave Lynn, for hardly being there, my five job centre recruits, for staying true, and off the booze, Nick Cave, for giving up on the legal action, Darren and Denise from the Bright Helm, for never running out of cheesecake, and the homeless man, whose name I never got, but who ensured my campaign didn’t kill anyone. PS who knew terrorism could be so good and so bad for minority groups at the same time? The homeless and hooligans are now heroes of our age. Until they piss everywhere again, I guess.
That’s all, goodbye.