Dare to be a Daniel

LONGTIME Toasty-watchers (easily recognised by their burnt noses and continual nervous tremor) will recall that my Futon was originally unrolled at http://toastyboy.blogspot.com but had to be deleted in November 2005 due to snow on the points at Volvograd or some such piffle. (Wasn't there a menacing email typed in human blood by Mad Frankie Fraser's sister or something? Everything's a blur after so many years of skull/breezeblock interaction therapy.)

My first plan after the fuss died down was to reinstate the blog at the same address, but pesky old Blogger wouldn't let me, which I assumed meant the URL was out of bounds to the entire human race until the end of time, like Kenneth Williams's bathroom. So I lugged my futon across to this dump and started again with only the barrel I stood up in.

But what do I find now, after a mere eighteen months' absence in Papua New Guinea or wherever the hell I've been?

My quondam bijou pied-à-terre at http://toastyboy.blogspot.com has been wrenched open and infested by a slouching, unwashed answer-to-an-iron-maiden's prayer that chooses to call itself DANIEL.

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So what do we know of this creature?

• It purports to be aged 14. Then again, so do most of us, at least when threatened with action for breach of promise or auditioning for Wanna Be A Celebrity? Then Lick This Vat Of Electrified Treacle! on BBC3, so we can't knock it for that.

• It claims to like sports. And who would be so cynical as to accuse it of being insufficiently specific? I bet it enjoys nothing better than a hearty afternoon of lacrosse, netball, hare-coursing or extreme nude bobsleigh. It's just the sort.

• It says it likes cooking. So did Typhoid Mary.

• It likes hanging with friends. So did Mussolini.

• It’s not actually very good at getting round to writing its goddam blog. In fact it's utterly useless at it. It doesn't even try. It's a complete waste of space and natural resources. It should be POKED VERY HARD WITH A POISONED STICK until it GOES AWAY and STOPS JAYWALKING ON MY BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS.

Orright?

Honestly. Can't turn my back for a moment.