I've been to paradise, but I've never been to me

In 1989 the Berlin Wall fell. It had taken me an age to convince Gorby (Lord! He was such a BORE, nor could he handle his Yak's vodka incidentally). But anyway, after one relentless, restless, Russian rendevous, finally I could cross the border, get my new face, and trully became Winfred Sparrow...

But going back, my story begins in 1972. I was in a Guatemalan prison having been caught smuggling two melons full of government secrets across the border doing a favour to a distant royal relative...Anyway, picture this, I was promptly slung into a cell in the closest women's prison - the sticky pit as it was known locally - with none other than Lesbina Dykenhausen. When I saw that ravishing beauty I thought, you know, I've been to paradise, but I've never been to me. Two weeks in and I was elbow deep in love with my Lesbina. I might have been incarcerated wearing sturdy men's shoes and without my compact and tweezers, but those were the happiest most feminine times of my life.

Four months later I was heart-broken. Crushed. Lesbina had tunnelled her way out - with one of my feminine products - and left me broken and alone, a fraction of the woman I had been. I had dysentry and she'd given me the pox.

Fortuitously some may say, it was then that I met another cell-mate of Lesbina's. She too had been left to rot by that callous bitch (pardonnez-moi Francais). The fates put us together in 'the vault' - separated from the other girls as bad influences, the instigators of diversionary beauty pageants and fashioners of obscene soap sculptures. We talked through the metal grate day after day, sharing every intimate detail of our lives. In the 20 mintes each day we were allowed to exercise our bodies and bowels we drew portraits of our family trees in the dirt. We knew every intimate detail of each other's lives.

Oh, hang on....sorry about this. SHould I say this - does this thing post as I type?

No, sorry I've got to go. Blonde Sugababe has just popped in for a bottle of what Coco and I used to call 'mother's ruin'. She's my mole in a plot of vengeance against my arch-nemesis, Lesbina, and apparently she's got some dirt to unearth. I can also see she's itching to get her mitts on Betsy's corns. I can hear her laying out the plastic sheeting in my through lounge-conservatory. To look at that sexy thing teetering around on those heels in that leotard, you'd never think she was a chiropidy enthusiast. Oh how she loves Betsy's feet - she's never worn shoes and she chopped meat in an abbatoir so you can imagine. But you can count on the blonde one to respect my no skin on the shag rule.

So, well I'll imagine I'll get back to you tomorrow but I'll have to wait for my goddaughter to log me up again. She's truly a darling, my little Kyline Minogew. And truth be told she was quite right, I haven't had this much fun since we laced the tahini with tarantulas - such noble creatures. But, I digress.

I imagine I could get the hang of this blagging.