My dead diary - politics and alcohol

Sunday. An exhausting night. Kensal Rise cemetery are wisely pressing for a peace treaty so I spent most of the time in one of the Kilburn drinking holes, ensconced in an upper room as we tried to come to an agreement. Two empire-era politicians had turned up to negotiate on their behalf but neither were really up to the task, droning on about protocols, traditions and other rubbish.

I wish they’d sent someone else. I used to like Kensal Rise – I’d hang out there with Charles Babbage, the one they say invented the computer, and we’d get drunk on the zombies’ home brew and tease the prim dissenter ladies with salacious innuendos. Occasionally, we’d wander out on to the Harrow Road and haunt the kebab shops there. Since the war started, there’s too much security to get through and it’s all become a boring autocracy, governed by the old military. And Charles Babbage apparently is so ashamed of what his invention has become that he rarely leaves his grave any more.

I gave up on the negotiations in the end and told the ambassadors that it was either unconditional surrender or we’d be coming over to wipe them off the map. They turned even paler than usual and said they’d have to discuss it with their commanders, so I gave them 24 hours which is probably too generous. I think they’ll come to their senses and then we’ll only have one battle line to worry about – there’s no way Highgate will give up without a fight.