Oyster (the World is My)

That's how it would be written if it was a song. Sung by me. A crooning late 60s number. A bittersweet sort of tale of a guy who had it all, and threw it all away. Building to an utterly unmemorable chorus, with brassy horns and an orchestra thrown in.

Where was I? Ah yes, back south on the sleeper tonight. I'm in demand, it would appear. There are, of course, other numerate and articulate people that could help out in the City, but unfortunately they're all absolute crooks.