It's been noticeable that, during his time with Kate Moss, Pete Doherty stopped popping up giving interviews to the tabloids every ten minutes. Now, if you were cynical, you might think that a sign that he was doing these pieces as a form of income. That once he was being underwritten by Moss, they dried up seemed to confirm this. And now, funnily enough, once he's fending for himself again, why, he's once again whispering in the ears of the papers.
Today's Mirror interview tries to pull off the awkward three-way of presenting himself as a victim, trying to be nice to Kate in a bid to win her back, and giving enough to the paper to earn the fee:
In the next, he passionately declares: "I love her with all my heart. I like the way she walks and talks. I love her bones. I love her brain."
"Kate has broken my heart.
"There's been this lockdown and I can't get hold of her. This is the only way I can get through.
"I need her to know that she's out of her fucking mind. Kate, if you love me then realise I don't want any other girl.
He doesn't pull it off.
"Fucking hell man, why does she read the Daily Mirror, anyway? She moans all the time about the fucking paparazzi then first thing in the morning she's got to buy your paper."
There's one for the circulation department, then.
"We were watching a DVD together and Kate started going 'I could tell by the way you were sitting back there that you've fucked her'. I said 'You're out of your fucking mind'.
"I was really up for some peace and love that morning. I wasn't up for being called a cunt and being kicked in the head.
"She's got an awful temper. I grabbed a guitar and books and said 'I'm never going to be treated this way again'."
Ah. Doherty walked out. Right. Because he has his dignity, of course. Up to the "scrabbling around for coins in the Mirror" bit.
And what of the drucks, Pete: how is your drugs hell:
"Then they gave me a sticker warning the emergency services that I shouldn't be given any morphine.
"All my receptors are now blocked which means I can't enjoy the recreational use of Class A drugs.
"Inside, I feel a little more chirpy than I have for a long, long time.
"But that's only because there's a degree of stability around me that I haven't had for some time."
More bloody implants? Good lord, man, you've been implanted more times than a brood mare to little effect. Why not try some anti-heroin gum while you're at it?
The suggestions about the new music aren't entirely encouraging, either:
"I've never been in a position before where, God strike me down for saying this, I've actually made a record I can listen to and get off on.
"I've always been a bit weird about listening to my own stuff.
"But there are a couple of co-writes on the new album, a few co-writes with Kate - and it's a belter."
Oh, lord help us. Down In Albion was blighted by an apparent inability to be self-critical, so god alone knows what "everything I'm doing is brilliant" coupled with sharing songwriting duties with Kate Moss means.
As a gift to Moss, he pronounces her as clean as a children's book written by nuns:
"Kate was determined to sort her life out and has done. She doesn't mind the odd spliff but won't go back down the route of the hard stuff. And she certainly won't let me do drugs in her house.
"Drugs are a big no-no for her now. All she wants is to be a good mum to her kid."
What a strange coincidence that the Mirror (or, rather, one of Doherty's mates) happened to catch Kate Moss' last-ever drugs session for posterity. Amazing, isn't it, like when people go through their parents' lofts and discover film of the Titanic leaving Southampton.
Having tried to do Kate a favour, Doherty then ratchets up the guilt a little on her:
"If I had Kate back then life wouldn't be so bad, would it?"
Not, of course, that he'd try to imply that his staying off drugs is in any way connected to her taking him back, or anything.
The one positive thing about Doherty when he's seeing Moss is that he's never as shabby as when he's left to his own devices.