Tuesday, 27 September 2005

Diary Of A Handsome Egyptian Prince (Part 1)

So, total power invested in me by my people. Sounds good, yes? But, oy, the responsibility. When you’re not oppressing the Jews into building pyramids, you’re trying desperately to get a coherent agricultural policy off the ground. Irrigation, as my mother once said, is the key. Of course, she was on about her colon, but I thought, hey, why not give it a try on the Nile, and what do you know? It works!

That’s great, I think to my regal self, I’ve got a long term agricultural policy that, in turn, will develop my economy, allowing more money to be invested into oppressing the Jews and beating the rest of the world to building amazing architectural wonders. Until the Romans show up.

God damn Romans, they spoil everything with their broken bloody noses and their straight roads everywhere. And poor defenceless Egypt gets invaded. As if they have any right! So I rush to the Carthaginians, don’t I? But this guy, Hannibal, he don’t want to know. So I goes crying, cap in hand, to the Byzantines, and what do you know, this Byzantine broad’s on the Romans side. By Anubis, this woman’s a pain! So what do I do?

I tell you what I do! I get every man, woman and child a weapon and go over there and smash their damn countries into dust, and engulf their sorry borders into Egyptian rule.

Then it’s off to bed, only to get woken in the night by a downright social revolution. Turns out, the leading courtiers all want a piece of the Egyptian action. What’s a pharaoh to do, I ask myself, but let the people have what the people want? So I give them all a nice feudal society, and have all the first born children massacred. Easy peasy – I’m still in charge and everyone’s got more or less what they wanted. Back to bed for a lie in until eleven, then off to work, to teach those Carthaginian bastards that when Egypt asks for some help you God damn give it to ‘em!

Night, night.

Friday, 16 September 2005

The Diary of Graham Perve (Part 2)

It took some time but I finally escaped from Evad’s house. Rather than find critically needed food or water after so many days in captivity, I decided to get to the nearest internet cafĂ© and update my diary.

Yeah, turns out Evad’s a casual killer, so I was lucky to get out. I’m going to develop the pictures I took for evidence as and when I can and I’ll post them here.

This new revelation about Evad’s extremely dangerous masculinity is very intriguing. I may have to go and sit outside his house for a bit and think about that.

Saturday, 3 September 2005

The Diary Of Graham Perve (Part One)

I came across Evad today. He didn’t see me, because I was concealed behind a wall and he was in his house. He was having breakfast and it was toast with marmalade. I think he may like marmalade a tad too much, verging on a marmalade obsession. At the moment this is conjecture. I will have to investigate his love for marmalade further before I make any firm judgements.

After sitting outside his house behind the wall for about three hours, I made my way into town for an appointment with doctor Munk (pictured).

Doctor Munk said that he thought I was becoming worse in my condition and needed heavier medication. I told Doctor Munk that I had suffered another nightmare about him in which he killed me with a barometer. Doctor Munk sighed when I told him this and proceeded to stroke my inner thigh. I don’t understand why he does that. After the appointment I followed Doctor Munk to his home, though he did not see me because I was disguised as a pantomime camel. When I got to his house I took another picture of him without him noticing and went home to develop them in the attic.

Dr Munk’s private parts look very small in the photograph I took at his house, but then he was in a bath of ice. He has a lot of welts on his back and legs.

I returned to Evad’s house and sat behind the wall. Evad was covered in paint again. Presumably he is painting his whole house red. While he was in a back room I crept up towards the front of the house and took note of the layout of drainpipes and upstairs windows in readiness for my plan on Monday (5th September), when I know he will be out for a meeting. I must remember to buy some new film for my camera before Monday.

Thursday, 1 September 2005

In The Court Of The Crimson King

Yes, it’s the title of an album but apart from that it is irrelevant to this post.

Don’t let that put you off. I’m quite mad.

So, I go to this rehearsal for this show the other day that is held at a church hall. I get there. It’s raining. Everyone else gets there. It’s still raining. Nobody has a key. That, in my mind, spells trouble.

So, telephone calls are made and it turns out that the guy who normally has the key is away on holiday, but he’s left it with this woman. This woman’s nowhere to be found. That’s because she’s in Ireland. That’s right. And we are in the UK with the church hall. That, in my mind, spells trouble.

So, we try phoning someone who might know all the answers about the man, the woman, Ireland and the key. They tell us that the vicar will have the key. A vicar they call ‘Al’. So, a brief, wet jaunt to the vicarage and nobody’s home. Nobody at all. It is still raining, ominously. That, in my mind, spells trouble.

So they come ‘galumphing back’ from the vicarage and, as they pass the actual church, they see a sign. A real sign, you understand, not an epiphany. And on the sign, on the door of the church, it reads

‘There will be a mass for Al tomorrow. Everyone welcome.’

Al’s dead, isn’t he?