Status Updates From The Gilt Kid

first appearance in any book I've ever read of the word "vodeodo"

Gawd blimey! Who'd have thought it!

When he came to he was lying on the cell floor. He seemed to be ache. No longer was he conscious of a headache or of sore ribs. It was impossible to distinguish one area of pain from another.

The Gilt Kid sprang at him with concentrated fury. Not only was he a savage fighting for his life and liberty, he was also venting his exasperation at the way in which everything had gone wrong.

He was not, he told himself, lonely. He was not useless. On the contrary, he was performing a useful function in society by removing from the rich some of the surplus value which his half-hearted study of economics had told him that it was wrong for them to possess.

In the cold truth, nobody in the world cared a damn about him. He was as lonely here, at liberty in the streets of London, as ever he had been, sitting on the floor of his locked cell in prison sewing mailbags. It was a hell of a life.

The morning after.... He felt weak and self-deprecatory. Every movement, every action of his seemed to call for an excuse.

The Gilt Kid's long drunken night in the West End seems to be culminating with a reunion with Maisie, the only girl he ever loved. So far it's interesting and enjoyable. Peppered with authentic sounding thirties London slang and by a narrator, who knows the angles, back after a nine month stretch.

According to Paul Willetts, in his introduction, reading The Gilt Kid for the first time is akin to watching some hitherto undiscovered classic black and white British crime movie, replete with memorable performances and tantalising glimpses of a lost world.