Yet Jóse was an honourable man,
That I must say, who knew him very well;
Therefore his frailties I'll no further scan,
Indeed, there were not many more to tell:
And if his passions now and then outran
Discretion, and were not so peaceable
As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius)
He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious.

-Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto the First, Stanza XXXV

I must admit, the front page of this diary got me more excited than I've been since they released Amadeus: The Director's Cut on DVD in the UK. Semi-naked couples engaging in pre-copulative caressing? Not a bit of it, sir! If your eye is not immediately drawn to the author's invocation of her main squeeze, Jose -and no matter what entry you read, such an invocation will undoubtedly be in evidence- then you are clearly not an early adopter. Could it, COULD IT BE the same, unfortunate author of that unparalleled work of fictive genius that had been my earliest foray into this teeming jungle of predatorial criticism? Could it -even better!- be a different author but the self-same Don Jose, serial-womanising his way through the adolescent alphabet in reverse order? Sadly, the evidence seems to point to the counterintuitive possibility of there being MORE than one Jose in existence- especially given that both diarists list each other as favourites. Jose is either an appellation to which two or more separate physical entities correspond, or he is an absolute and deliciously mischievous GENIUS, in which case you can see why these two girls would be content to divide him between them on a weekday/weekend basis.

I think Jose might have been my arch-nemesis at one point- or, at least I wished he was. Every night I could not sleep for dreaming, battling Jose and his big black hat through sewers and across waterfalls, rolling down mountain-sides clasped in each other's head-locks, pursuing each other across oceans of time and chasms of space, confrontation at every corner and rendezvous on every rue. Sometimes I was the implacable detective, hot on the heels of the globetrotting Jose; other times I was the charismatic rogue to Jose's gruff Interpol, glancing over my shoulder with a grin and a "See ya next crime!" before swinging off into the darkness with the Jewel of the Nile safely tucked in my inside pocket; but EVERY time he and I were worthy adversaries, with an unspoken respect which baffled and infuriated our miscomprehending colleagues on either side. Ah, good times. As I say, I'm almost sure I just made them up.

What, Madam? You say that the name of the writer's on-off boyfriend is no basis on which to judge a diary? What would you have with me?! Do you WANT me to pore maliciously over the myriad of meaningless details that comprise this diary, highlighting for all the most wretched extracts and degrading episodes? Do you WANT me to take seriously this quintessence of torpid sludge, discoursing lengthily on that about which I have nothing good to say? Do you WANT to hear me comprehensively demolish this foolishly earnest and earnestly foolish piece of knavery, labelling its creator with such fitting and imaginative epithets as "kid-mind" and, quite possibly, "idiot-mind"? Do you, in short, want to see cheerbaby12 cry?! You mistake both yourself and Marked Accordingly, Ma'am, in the promotion of this devilish desire to see another Jose-lover reduced to knees and tears and long-redundant bridal gowns. Take you this for a Theatre of Cruelty, whereunto puppets are thrown like Christians to lions? No, no, no: I am in too much of a good mood to subject myself to any more of this farcical epistolary éclaircissement. Be assured that these action figures of Jose and Cheerbaby are guaranteed a happy ending, and a trip to their house in the Hamptons (accessories sold separately) in their luxury caravan (accessories sold separately). "I love you, Jose!" "And I love YOU, Cheerbaby!" "Tee-hee-hee! Kissykissyface!" "NYEEEEEEEEEEER!" "Oh, no! It's Optimus Prime!" "You can't escape, Jose and Cheerbaby! AUTOBOTS! TRANSFORM! SMASH! BANG! CRASH! ZAP! POW!" "No, not the face! Anything but the face!" "But WAIT! It's the Power Rangers on the counter-attack! ZOOOOOOMMMM!!! KABLAMMMMMOOOOOOO!" "Mooooo!" "Hey, Mr. Donut Man, who's tryin' to kill ya?" "I don't know, but he better not." "Hack the bone! Hack the bone! BOOOOOOM!"

Go home now. I'm busy.