It takes the alienation of millions...

OK, so I'm supposed to be commenting on Andrew's life, as he blogs it. This has got to be safer than commenting on his life in general, which is good, as that falls into just two categories: "covered by NDA" and "self-abuse" (apparently with some interesting overlap).

I have to insult Andrew frequently, because I'm desperately trying to look more like a real person and less like some kind of imaginary friend (like the one who wet the bed, and later in life bought all those magazines). Let me get this straight: I am not Andrew. I'm pretty sure about this, because since I first met him, I've started every day by repeating the phrase "I am not Andrew". I can recommend it as a great way of fighting off those feelings of despair and depression that we all get from time to time (if we know Andrew).

So what has he actually done? Like, ever? Apparently he's been to Festiv'Ice, which I thought was that village in Romania where they filmed Borat, but actually it's much worse. It's just more climbing. Like he says, he's always loved climbing. He was trying to climb out of his crib before he could walk. His parents didn't want to put a net over the top of the crib, because that would make it like a cage, and cages are for things you want to keep. "If you love something, let it go", I can hear them murmuring to one another, as they place the crib delicately on the median strip.

What worries me more is that Festiv'Ice was apparently in Canada (├ętait apparemment au Canada). He's also been to Australia and New Zealand, which are essentially, in a geopolitical sense, friendly nations (pays amis). Or at least they were - but then Andrew visits them, and within months they'll all be signing up for the Axis of Evil (alliance des singes fromage-mangeants capitulards). Why, as a nation, do we allow this to happen? It's like letting Sarah Palin go on goodwill tours.

And it's OK for him to be all "oh, the people are so friendly". He genuinely can't tell. As a child he never had the remotest idea when people wanted him to leave the room, which is to say, usually. Now he's all grown up, it's just the same with countries. As far as he's concerned, it's a traditional parting gesture in much of the world for the guest to be strip-searched, pistol-whipped and marched across the border. He's surprised many a border guard with his final, defiant cry of "Do you have a souvenir shop?"

Now apparently he's going to be touring trouble-spots climbing mountains. I see him captured every month by Kalashnikov-toting Marxist rebels. What with the failure of their ideology and him as prisoner, it's hard not to feel sorry for them. If they start a blog, I'll try to be nicer to them.

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