Who will make Bender waffles just the way he likes them now?

Mariella is moving to Belfast come new year; that’s Belfast, Northern Ireland, not Belfast, North Christchurch. I’m happy for her since it’s been a long-term plan of hers to get back there: her parents are Irish-born and she certainly thinks of the time she was in Ireland as the best of her life.

But my lesser nature feels sorry for me. Without its hub in Mariella, it’s likely that the Wellington friends’ social round in which I periodically immerse myself will disperse, or at best, loosen somewhat. And what will life be like without the mockery that has brought about some of my best changes of hair, shoes and style? And no-one else introduces me to flirty boozehounds who praise me for merits I don’t have. Also my occasional drug use will probably stop. Truth be told, that was the first thought of my lesser nature.

For the last ten years of my life, I’ve had at least one friend who is a substantive risk to my physical and mental health. (Dangermouse introduced me to Mariella about three months before Mouthwash Man got married.) Saying goodbye will be like giving up smoking, with all the loss of comfort and self-definition that entails.