The Big Skiddoo — Jane Lane

Where do I begin, in an effort to explain the massive blow-up at Belmont and its many horrible consequences for so many people. Or my own part in the affair, when I was merely Jake Lake, studio odd-jobber, designated driver, all-round operator and adoring assistant to our beloved Cath (then at the dawn of her career - you will of course remember the unforgettable fishtail dress and the ground-breaking photoshoot that launched that iconic (if now suppressed) perfume campaign).Now you may well ask how I came by that eye-watering stash of incriminating photos featuring dozens of the movers'n'shakers who attended those infamous Belmont parties - the ruin of so many promising celeb careers, not to mention those of our glittering hosts, Maz and Eva, and their henchmen, the curiously charmless Barracuda brothers. To say nothing of the murky circumstances surrounding the tragic demise of Eva's erstwhile paramour, stick-insect Sandra - just how did she come to fall into the Thames wearing that hideous flamingo-coloured flamenco frock (never mind the neon-pink platforms which subsequently came to my attention in the most troubling fashion).And with the dissemination of those pics precipitating not only a frenzied media scandal (leading, as I'm sure you will recall, to the resignation of a certain cherub-fancying Secretary of State and a catastrophic run on the pound) but my own hasty exit (aka vamoose, skedaddle or - my own preferred term - skiddoo) from my previous haunts, life has become rather more complicated than I'd bargained for, necessitating more than one complete change of persona. None of which is compensated in the least by the vast sums garnered from the debacle and my unexpected entry into the leisured classes, leaving me far too much time to brood about my lost love. Dearest Cath - will I ever see her again? and would she even recognise me in my current incarnation?But just as the whole ghastly Belmont business was consigned to the dustbin-of-history, I began t