The Jesustan Diaries, ladies and gentlemen, is back.
If you were wondering where the fine gentleman of leisure has been all this time, perhaps this might offer a clue:
"Patriotic Duty, which is much the same in any land, was like that only. I cannot tell you how miserable it was: hour after hour after hour of ceaseless in-out, in-out, in-out with Memsahibs who had been reared for years on extra-large size packets of aloo chips in sour cream dip, and having all the while to listen to the strange squeaking sounds made by the springs the natives insist on nailing under their manjis.
Oh, the horror, the horror. That spoiled so-and-so Joseph Conrad had no idea what the heart of darkness looks like, and this I can tell you, it most certainly isn't in Africa.
Now, though, I am free, to write (and to nurse what was once my proud manhood, but resembles nothing so much as a gajar as it is being shredded to be turned into halwa .)"
He goes on to delight you with an account of how wives of Jesustani soldiers have found a solution for, er, loneliness, and averted a major social crisis. With Create-a-Mate.
'Zindabad!' he says.