Week 3

Monday February 16th

Why is it always Monday? Why can’t it always be Saturday instead? I like Saturdays. Sandra was frosty at breakfast, and only gave me one bit of bacon with my toast. She hasn’t spoken to me properly since Saturday night, and I’ve a feeling I disgraced myself at the Ambassador’s. I hope I didn’t make a pass at his wife. But on the other hand I hope I did make a pass at her. And I hope I did drink too much gin and vomit on his flowerbed or break his antique vase. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - I’m the Devil. It’s who I am, and who I’m supposed to be, and I don’t see why I should change.
On a happier note, I found out about Colin today, and the upshot is that I’ve kicked him out. It turns out that I was right all along - he just didn’t deserve to be here. If I tell you that his full name is Colin The Merciless then you can probably guess what happened. Yep, that’s right, the HR department got their files mixed up yet again! We ended up with Colin while his twin brother Ming got sent Up in his place. What I can’t quite fathom is why no one spotted it sooner. Surely the Up folks must have noticed that Ming was a little… unusual, shall we say, and not quite Up material? Surely the wild parties, despotism and general urge to conquer would’ve given the game away? I just don’t get it. I’ve ordered the switch now, so by this time tomorrow it should all be sorted. It’ll be nice to have an arch villain in the street again. There’s been a certain something missing ever since Mussolini left. There was always something going on when he was here, but since Colin moved in it’s been very boring. Hopefully Ming will liven things up a bit. I’ll let him get settled in and then we’ll have him round for dinner. If Sandra’s talking to me again by then, that is.

Tuesday February 17th

Back to two slices of bacon today, but still not much in the way of conversation.
The job interviews are fixed for tomorrow. Pol Pot’s pulled out (he’s been offered a lecture tour that pays way more than we do) so it’s just his assistant and that Gerald bloke left. Their CVs were quite well matched, so it’ll be interesting to see which one turns out best.
After work I popped over the road to see if Ming needed any help moving in. I know I said I’d wait a few days, but I just couldn’t help myself. I think we’re going to get on very well. His slaves have already got most of the house done and it’s looking good. He’s added an ensuite torture chamber (why have I never thought of that!) and he’s built a huge barbecue on the back lawn, along with a massive hot-tub. He’s going to have a house warming party on Saturday, with spit-roast horse, Playboy Bunnies and a torture competition. I can’t wait!

Wednesday February 18th

Busy busy busy today. Started with a visit to Dr Malloy, who says that I’m making progress, but that I still have ‘underlying anger issues’ and that it’ll probably be at least a year before I see any ‘quantifiable differences in my psycho-reactive state’. I told him that was bollocks, and that if he didn’t stop talking in psycho-babble I’d rip his lungs out. That shut him up for a bit.
This afternoon I did the interviews for the Assistant job and ended up giving it to Gerald, the man who used to work in Tescos. He was nowhere near as qualified as the other bloke (who used to work for Pol Pot) but the simple truth of it is that the other bloke just scared the shit out of me. It wasn’t that he was threatening or anything – he was very polite, in fact. Asked me how my wife was and whether I’d like to invest in his Pyramid Scheme. But he kept fiddling with his spear, and he had these weird white voodoo eyes that never, ever blinked. I couldn’t stop looking at them. And he just kept staring straight back at me the whole time, like I was a mouse on a skewer. It was freaky. I kept trying to ask him questions only to find I’d trailed off and that I was staring into those eyes again. There’s no way in Hell I could work with him. Nothing would ever get done, and I’d be constantly afraid of coming in to find all my staff strung-up and the office full of chanting priests. So I gave the job to Gerald, who’s a nice enough bloke and wouldn’t be down here at all if he hadn’t poisoned his mother-in-law. He starts tomorrow, and that’s not a moment too soon. I’m sick of making my own tea.

Thursday February 19th

Sandra seems to have thawed out at last, thankfully. I got three whole rashers at breakfast as well as an egg, and she kissed me goodbye as I left. Whatever it was that I did I seem to have been forgiven, so hopefully that will be the end of it.
Gerald made a good start. He picked up the main parts of his role easily enough, and his tea wasn’t too bad. He did try to poison me at one point, but that’s just par for the course so I didn’t mind too much. He seemed quite surprised when I didn’t collapse and die, but once I’d sat him down and gently explained the rudiments of Devil-physiology he was ok. It’s best to get these things out the way early, I find. I may be immune to every poison ever invented, but that doesn’t mean I like the taste of the damn things, and I don’t want my tea to be ruined all the time. All in all I think he’ll do well, which is a relief. The office has been a mess since I burnt Peter.
After work I played golf with Not-Jeffrey-Dahmer and some bloke I’ve never met before who works in the Marketing section. He was a bit of an odd fish. He had pink plus-fours, and I swear he was wearing perfume. Plus every time he hit a good shot he jumped up and down, clapped his hands like a girl and squealed at his Caddy. It was very off-putting. Luckily he was pretty rubbish and didn’t play good shots very often, but I still don’t want to play with him again. Not-Jeffrey seemed to like him though. It takes all sorts.

Friday February 20th

I have a secret admirer! I came in this morning to find flowers on my desk, and a little poem written on the card. “Satan with your ears so red / Your horns fill me with lust / I haven’t felt this sexy since my boyfriend bit the dust / Love me Satan, love me deep / A love so strong and rich / Hold me sexy Satan and please let me be your bitch!” Full marks for poetry I think, but zero marks for anything else. Who in their right mind would ever think that I’d appreciate flowers? I’m Satan! Send me a kebab or a roll of barb-wire and you might stand a chance, but flowers? You might as well just vomit on my shoes and have done with it.
I took the card off the flowers and took them home for Sandra. Waste not want not! Hopefully they’ll keep her sweet for the weekend - I could do with building up some credit before Ming’s housewarming. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a messy one!

Saturday Feb 21st

Golf with Adolf this morning, and he wasn’t in a good mood. Apparently he bought a car in midweek and it turned out to be two cars (badly) welded together in the middle! He was sitting at traffic lights on the way home, and when he pulled away the back end of the car didn’t – it just snapped off and stayed where it was! I know I shouldn’t laugh, but that’s the best thing I’ve heard in ages! Apparently he didn’t realise it had come off until he lost control of the front half and started spinning round in circles! I told him that it was own fault – what sort of fool buys a car for cash in a car-park 20 miles from anywhere? – but he wasn’t having any of it. It’s 3 days later now and he’s still seething. He says he’s going to find the bloke, turn him inside out and paint his stomach with acid. He’s got no hope of finding him though, so good luck on that one Adolf! He told me about it on the first tee and I laughed so hard that I didn’t hit a straight shot until we got the fifth! Classic. And bizarrely, it seems to have (temporarily at least) solved Adolf’s bunker phobia. We got all the way round the course today and he didn’t mention Alsatians once. Maybe I should get someone to piss him off every week, just to make sure we can complete our round.
Sandra loved the flowers, so it’s all good for the party tonight. She’s going to come along for a bit just to be polite, and then leave me to it when it starts to get messy. She’s such a trooper! She’s even going to leave a bucket out for me to be sick in, and set up the spare room for me so that I don’t wake her up when I come home. Everyone should have a wife like Sandra! I’m a very lucky man.

Sunday Feb 22nd

Sandra wants a divorce. She says I’m a drunken oaf who cares more about golf and torture than I do about her. She said I have no feelings! While I was out last night she moved all my stuff into the spare room and put a lock on the main bedroom door so I can’t get in! What am I going to do? The spare room is tiny, there’s no room to put anything. And there’s no wardrobe in there so I can’t even hang up my bowling whites – they’ll get all crinkled. I can’t go bowling in crinkled Whites – I’ll be drummed out of the club. And I don’t want a divorce. It’s great being married to Sandra. She makes me bacon in the morning, and listens to me complain when I get in. And she’s great in bed! Maybe she doesn’t really want a divorce, just wants to scare me into behaving better. I think I’ll suggest marriage-guidance, see what she says. If that doesn’t work then who knows. The one saving grace is that I’ve been through this a few times before, so I’m not going to lose out financially – the house is all mine, the pre-nup is impregnable and I’ve got that secret offshore account she doesn’t know about. It’s still a bummer though.
Played golf this afternoon with Al Capone, which is always embarrassing. He’s a good player, but he dresses like a hoodlum and that doesn’t go down well with the more established members. And he keeps his clubs in a giant violin case rather than the traditional bag, which – in my opinion – is just tacky. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised that the Committee haven’t Black-Balled him by now. Usually they’re only too pleased to kick people out. I remember that time in the 1548 when I was barred for two months just for spilling my pint on the Captain’s shoes. I had to play at the Styx Club instead, and their 17th hole is a nightmare. Maybe Capone has got a hold over one of the Committee members or something – that’s the only thing that makes sense. Fair play to him. I wonder why I’ve never thought of doing that. I may speak to Himmler about it tomorrow, and see what dirt he can dig up. If I play my cards right I could even get on the Committee myself, and that would be something to write home about. There’d be no more green-fees and I’d get to attend the End Of Year Banquet. Bring it on!