Tuesday, August 05, 2003


Dear Diary

Bedfordshire! Bloody hate bloody Bedforshire. Not an All Bar One in sight, and we landed the Dalek Saucer on the only Starbucks in town. Do they think about lates when they land those things? Clearly not. Huh.

I don't know. When I first joined the Dalek army it was dead brill. Shazza and I wandered the cosmos, invading exciting planets, terrorising dull civilians, giving them plagues and drab clothes, and then catching the last saucer home for drunken jollies and a good gas down the Emperor's Bar (motto: "Do not fight in here.").

Now it's all robomen and quarries. Dammit. Even our prisoners have better haircare than we do. And we've only got black and white TV. If we want Sky, we have to wear the bloody dishes strapped to our back. Which is a vexing nuisance. Where am I supposed to put my fave Gromit shoulder bag now?

Anyway, must nip off down the mines for a bit of terrorising in amongst the whicker baskets. After all, we're not the bastards of earth for nothing.

PS: The bloody Slyther's crapped all over my best rubber flange. Mongrel.
PPS: Daleks rule!

No comments: