Bangers 'n' mash!

Bloody hell! We only went and had bangers 'n' mash for dinner! Top stuff. I can't stress how fucking boring it gets in this monastery sometimes. I swear it's like school, with white cabbage, yellow carrots, grey meat, the whole fucking lot. However, once in a while (and that's all it is), we get something quite special. The chef is Greek, crap and swears all the fucking time, but now and again he pulls out some blinding nosh. If I could speak to him I'd tell him I love him! The only problem with mash and all that though is it makes you really sleepy. Father Bradley fell onto my lap halfway through a meditation on the ineffability of Godhood. Normally I wouldn't mind except I had a raging hard-on from thinking about one of the nuns who are shacked up on the other side of the island. It poked him right in the bloody eye and he screamed COCK COCK COCK really bastard loud. He breaks the code of silence now and again, always in some spectacular way, but this was really bad form. He's been put on tourist duty which he fucking hates. He doesn't like people at the best of times and his face looks bloody tortured when he has to lead fat Americans around the place showing them all the crazy herbal liqueurs we make. He poked this kid in the eye once with a twig of rosemary. Blinded the little bastard; he said the kid was putting his hands in the juniper berries all the time. He swears he told the kid to stop, but the parents said that was bullshit. The Bishop gave the family a cassock and a bottle of some crap as compensation.

Anyway, I'm off to play ping-pong with Father Gibbon. He's allowed to play again at last, though he'll probably batter some other poor bastard soon and get banned again.