Read My Lips: I'm Not Leaving - And Can I Get Some Deodorant?

Have you seen the latest news? They tried to make me leave the Embassy, but I told them: “No. Fucking. Way.” I didn’t get this little patch of Knightsbridge luxury at a bargain price to simply give it up because failing President Moreno wants to turn my room into a walk-in closet.

I’m only three and a half years away from claiming squatter’s rights on this beauty and ONLY THEN will I consider cashing in and seeking asylum at another shithole country’s equally well-addressed Embassy. I’ve heard if you can get in the photocopy room at the Libyan Embassy, you can get a view of Hyde Park. And just imagine all the fun Pamela and I can have photocopying our privates. Now that sounds like a retirement I could get used to!

But until then, Ecuador is home and my run for the presidency persists. I trust I can rely on your vote.

In more domestic news, Cristina has told me more than once this week that I smell. If I wasn’t trying to get her attention for a sleepover, I would have told her with similar Latin bluntness that her gait is incredibly wide. But with Pamela now participating in this sham marriage to Adil Rami, Cristina’s my only hope for some conjugality, so if anyone’s passing by the Embassy in the next day or so, could you please leave some deodorant on the balcony? Do not leave any stick deodorant - I don’t need any more white residue on my body. And make sure it’s from Harrods - if it’s good enough for the Royal Family, it’s damn well good enough for me.