Week 2

Monday February 9th

Today was deadline day for the job applications. There were over 30, which is more than I expected. In the end I narrowed it down to Pol Pot’s assistant, a bloke called Gerald who used to work for Tesco and, bizarrely, Pol Pot himself. Apparently he’s getting bored on the island I gave him, and wants a new challenge. I’ll give him the courtesy of an interview – he’s a legend, after all - but I’d be surprised if he can type worth a damn. I was going to shortlist frog-lady too but she phoned to withdraw, as she’d got a job in a travelling freakshow instead. Everyone wants to be famous these days – it’s getting on my tits! I give her 6 months on the circuit before everyone is bored with her and she has to go back to the gutter. And when that happens she better not come running to me, because I’ll just set fire to her and send to work in Lytham St Annes.
Saw Attilla today in the canteen, and he says that he’s had no hot water since Friday. He was a bit down about it, but he cheered up when I told him what I did to the Water Board chap last week. I think I’m going to have to look into this water business - there’s something odd about it. This is Hell, so how can there be no hot water? It just doesn’t make sense. I think I’ll put Himmler on it, he’s good at internal investigations and he’s been at a loose end since the end of the Danny Dyer fiasco, so it’ll kill two birds with one stone. It doesn’t pay to let your minions get too bored, or they start getting ideas.
It’s Bowling tonight, and I’m quite excited. We’re playing the ‘B’ Team from the Nags Head and that’s always a close one. I hope Sandra’s ironed my Whites.

Tuesday February 10th

I’ve just found out that the man across the road is called Colin. I’m flabbergasted. How did a man called Colin make it as far as Hell? Men called Colin work at Debenhams in the shoe department. They sell insurance for typewriters. They’re men that are born to be middle aged, and they spend their lives in brown cardigans and slip on shoes. They’re not megalomaniacs or psychopaths. They’re not rapists. They’re called Colin. I’ve always thought he was a little odd (he has net curtains and a little pet poodle called Fluffy) but I never in a million years thought he was called Colin. I’ll have to look him up and see what he did, because I’m not at all convinced that he’s supposed to be here. COLIN!
We lost the bowling and I'm not at all pleased about it. The officials made some shocking decisions, and needless to say they're on my shit list. I haven't decided what to do with them yet, but whatever it is it will be painful. I'm toying with giving them the "100 Years of Meg Ryan Movies" treatment, but perhaps that's a little too harsh. I might just let them off with an amputation. I'll sleep on it and see how I feel tomorrow.

Wednesday February 11th

Dr Malloy’s again this morning. He was pleased with the diary progress, although when he asked if I was feeling any less aggressive I had to admit that I wasn’t. I’m still getting random urges to burn strangers, and I still find myself shouting at people for no good reason. I don’t think the diary will ever cure me of that, and I’m not sure I want it to. I’m Satan – I’m supposed to get annoyed. People expect it. They know where they stand when I’m angry, and they know how the system works. If I was a peaceful drugged up hippy then they’d get confused and Hell would just fall apart. As my father always said, you can’t have an autocracy without breaking some eggs.
Very dull day after the Dr’s. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. The sooner I get that new assistant the better.

Thursday February 12th

Got Himmler’s preliminary report on the hot water problems today. Surprise surprise - he thinks that it’s all a deliberate plot to unseat me. That man would see conspiracy in an empty room. That’s why hired him though I guess. He’s the best, and if something really is going on then he’ll root it out. He didn’t have any leads or ideas as to the culprits, but he’s convinced he’ll have them by the end of the month. If I was a betting man I’d say it was Cromwell again. It must be about 40 years since his last try, so he’s overdue. The question is, if it is him then what do I do with him. This is Hell, after all. You don’t get to come here if you’re a nice person who’s content with your lot and generally doesn’t want any trouble. Assassinations and attempted coups are to be expected, so I can’t really execute the people who try it. It wouldn’t be fair. Which is why, normally, I just give them a slap on the wrist and banish them to Lytham St Annes for a while. But on the other hand, people like Cromwell are a real pain in the arse. He’s only been here 300 years or so, and he’s already tried it on 17 times. I’m getting sick of him. So if it is him this time then I’m going to have to teach him a lesson. But what? I really hope it isn’t him because this one’s got me stumped.

Friday February 13th

Ted Bundy says the secret with the fly-traps is to make sure that they always have live meat to nibble on. He uses regenerating-worms at the minute, but he thinks they’d grow a lot higher if he could use meat with a higher protein count. He says he’s put in an application for a Cruel And Unusual Punishment Licence, so that he can try feeding them people instead. He reckons that one person stretched out along the flower bed could easily feed at least a dozen fly-traps, and the beauty of it is that once someone comes to Hell they live forever, so the plants will have a never-ending food source. I promised to put a word in for him with the Licensing Committee. I think it’s an excellent idea, and the best thing about it is that I can see his fly-traps through my kitchen window. I’ll be able to keep an eye on Cromwell as I do the washing-up.

Saturday February 14th

Golf Day! Adolf was busy (he went to Psychic Fair) so I played with that Not-Jeffrey-Dahmer bloke from Accounts. He’s still a tit, but it didn’t bother me so much today. Maybe the diary is working! I thrashed the pants off him – I had an absolute beauty of an eagle-putt on the 16th – and used my winnings to buy a giant steak for lunch. You can’t get much better than that. The afternoon wasn’t as good, but I still enjoyed it. I had to drive Sandra to Ikea to get a new wardrobe for the spare room. Ikea itself sucked (it always does) but the drive was fun. We put Tom Petty’s greatest hits CD on and took the scenic route rather than the motorway. On the way back we played the old Guess-Why-They’re-Here game, which I’m very good at. I think that Sandra thinks that I automatically know why everyone is here anyway, but I honestly don’t. There’s enough admin to deal with without concerning myself with that side of things. I leave it up to the Tribunal and just trust their judgement. Which reminds me – I need to look up Colin on Monday. Weirdo.
We’re off to a Valentines Day Cocktail Party at the Valhalla Ambassador’s place now. It’s going to be full of dull old duffers trying to interest me in politics. Bit of a dull way to spend a Saturday night, but duty calls so there’s no escaping it. And there’ll be lots of free gin and canapés so it’s not all bad. The Ambassadors wife is a bit foxy too, and she does so love to dress skimpy. Not that I’ll be looking of course! I’ll be far too busy being bored. To be honest I’d rather stay in and watch Casualty. But it is Valentines Day, and a free cocktail party is a lot cheaper than a restaurant. Plus there’s free taxis home, so we can both drink – and we all know what happens to Sandra’s inhibitions when she gets drunk! I’m on the train to up-all-night-ville baby! Bring it on!

Sunday February 15th

I'm never drinking again. Ever. I'm going back to bed now. Dr Malloy can stuff it.