1 August 1997 - ON HOLIDAY
I've gone on holiday to get over my recent tragedy. I've chosen to visit a "popular European country". Let me tell you - these Europeans are a disgusting bunch.
My bus drove past a group of them gorging themselves on a pile of rotten moths, and washing each other with sour milk. I must have been visibly repulsed, because the bus driver took exception with me and started swearing in a foreign language. He said: "Le pompt! De la nein! Nanty nan-na-da!"
4 August 1997 - ON HOLIDAY
Everyone in this foreign country hates me. Last night I was arrested for allegedly starting a riot when I was refused entry into a shop that sold greeting cards.
I've been locked in the cells and my treatment at the hands of the police has been brutal. First of all, I got no bread roll with my soup last night, and when I complained a policeman threw a towel at me and laughed. Then, when I asked for a pillow, one of the officers pumped tear gas into the cell.