Ode to Helsy:

To the fabulous and legendary Slutmonkey General.....leaving the rat’s nest to strike out and conquer South America in manner of a bloodthirsty Spanish git.

To the finest best man a couple could ask for, guaranteed to lose the rings & the groom, turn up late and smelling of whisky having crashed the hire car and upstage the bride in a shockingly revealing dress draped over gazelle-like limbs.

To the most extreme flirt in the world - breaking young (and I mean well young like - 12) men’s hearts as she saunters down the mean streets of the east end, winking and coquettish and then refuses to let them in the house for a shag. Instead, WE have to go to the door and tell them to go away.

To the most naked houserat of them all – I will look back fondly on our drill wielding DIY sessions where we wore nothing but thongs as we put up shelves, convulsing with giggles.

To the hamster toting Goddess, the night where we introduced our new born son to the world of NME readers and poseurs was one of my funnest nights ever in the history of indie clubs, if not the actual funnest.

To the girl who can actually match my own intense and vile slovenliness - I will never forget all the hundreds of hours we’ve spent slumped in your bed together, me in a negligee, you naked, surrounded by; empty Chinese cartons, bottles of Jamesons, wind-up rats, egg-shells, wigs, random bits of jewellery, crusts of toast, bags of valium, fluffy pigs that make frightening sounds, half drunk cups of tea with banana liqueur in, DVDs of tigers, text messages from insane men and of course the Glock.

I love you Hels. Whenever you're feeling blue and there's an internet caff nearby, read this post and remember: “Nobody puts baby in the corner.”