I had the oddest dinner the other night. This lady wot I was meeting with, it looks like she's in some sort of threeway with a lumberjack and my number one fan.

I think they wanted me to join in?

Who wants a piece of the Wagtail now? Witch Weekly, Daily Prophet, and yes, even the Quibbler, who are now claiming I am Sirius Black's lost brother.

Do I look like a Regulus to you?

I don't even know what a Regulus is.

Soon you'll be hearing me over the WWN, once that meeting is sorted. And once I remember who it's with. Serene Capiche, I think. Name ring a bell?

I've fired my manager because he hasn't booked me a gig in months and anytime I ask he tries to sound smart and smarmy and drops words like rehabilitation and public relations and contract terms and blablabla look at me I've got a stick up my arse and I can't prance around all normal-like like normal people who are paid to do their jobs

He thinks it's so bloody difficult. Well I'll show him.

MYRON WAGTAIL CONCERT

At Bertie Botts Stadium
7pm March 14, 2006
Tickets are 5g each

You can owl your payments over to Myron Wagtail and I will send you your very personal, SIGNED ticket. I will most definitely get carpal tunnel signing all those tickets but for my dearest fans I will do that for you. Besides I've had some very good practice with my wrist lately, if you know what I mean.

(I meant wanking. I've been wanking a lot lately. It really gets my cardio in.)

Erm, who was that band that did covers of my songs at that tea shop? You can be the opening act, but get a different singer, your current is rubbish.

THERE. That wasn't very hard, was it, Harold?

Go figure, I spend time to find myself through self-imposed exile and as soon as I allow my owls to deliver me my letters along comes a remarkably rude accusation thrown my way.

I DID NOT HAVE SEX WITH THAT WOMAN.

Or. Actually. On second thoughts.

Maybe I did, I wouldn't have remembered, what is a Bulstrode and will I enjoy riding her?

I see one of the young residents on this town has sorted out how to get the lasses all giddy in their pants.

Thusly I make this announcement: I am now available for fostering, for two-week periods, upon lady's bosoms.

Please line yourselves up accordingly.

Rumours of my demise and "downward spiral" -- highly original phrasing, Prophet, surely you can do better than cobbling garbage well-trodden -- have been greatly exaggerated.

It has been suggested to me by my publicists to keep quiet, but I owe my publicists nothing and my fans everything, so here goes the truth.

The Weird Sisters have canceled our tour pending the resolution of what the Prophet will have you believe is "my personal problems" but let it be known henceforth that the Prophet is a load of crock and propaganda and the only problem that remains deeply personal to me is that I am somehow paying the salary of people who have deemed it within their power to forcibly take my band away from me. Until I have "satisfied the conditions" given me by the Wizengamot, unfortunately, they are apparently able to do this.

What kind of society are we, I ask, that this sort of atrocious abuse of the legal system is upheld?

A society I would most certainly do not wish to be part of, that is for sure.

If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I have set off to be one with nature.

Good riddance!