Being decollated and having your tuppeny boxed and packaged away for the best part of a century gives a body, if you’ll pardon the pun, a time to reflect. If truth be told, I’m sure I have forgotten more of my life and history than I am able to recollect; although, I was no stranger to the bottle and a surfeit of gin is wont to pull a gauze over the past, clouding history as well as judgement, some may say.

My current patrons, those that have given me lodgings in this new bout at life I have been granted (all gratis, which is fair, decent and very satisfactory), have been poking and prodding away inside my noggin with all manner of keepsakes and mementos. Being a gent what had a certain amount of fame in his heyday, or infamy as some would have it, there are plenty of those reminders to be had, including my own writings as I was quite the Littérateur in my day.

And so we have it, my patrons have devised this way for me to expound upon my life as I see fit. It seems that all I have need to do is write my words using this paperless typewriter they have loaned to me (and a right flimsy thing it is, manufactured from some sort of Vulcanite it seems, which I think will hardly withstand my assaults upon it) and my words and wisdom will be for all the world to cast a view, and an opinion, upon.

Of course, the world I come from, 19th century London, particular to Whitechapel and its surrounding environs, is a very different world to that what you inhabit today. Mine was a dark world filled with fear. Poverty and hunger was clawing at the doors of us of the lower classes. What you might call a Terror Incognita! We were all crammed together along with those new to our country, those fleeing persecution from those that wished them harm in the Eastern lands. The accord what they called The Concert of Europe, arranged and conducted by those of a Teutonic persuasion, was becoming disharmonised and all the leaders of those varying nations of Europe were stringing each other along, banging their drums and sounding the bugles of war. Course, we in Britain, always danced to our own tune and often refused the invitations to the recitals of that particular orchestra.

But, in this new and enlightened age that I have awoken in, I will not bore you with the problems served up cold to the likes of you and I by the politicians of past days. I am sure that all those petty differences were resolved long ago.

So I will raise a glass of this very satisfactory gin that my new patrons are keeping my springs lubricated with and toast you all in this bright new world of peace and prosperity. Let us see what mischief we can make of it.

Ally Sloper. Cheers!