Key

Father Gibbon lost the key and we're all trapped in the fucking monastery until the locksmith makes it over.

Wrong wrong wrong

I know it's bad but I'm pissed. I was awarded an extra hour of speaking-time this evening so I went to the off-licence and got a bottle of cheap brandy.

You know, I get free alcohol on tap in this monastery, but I'm really pissed off with herbal bollocks. I've been listening to a band from the mainland called Derrero and swigging alcohol for most of the evening. It's a testament to my constitution that I can still type right now and I'm proud to be able to tell you that I hate the American term 'restroom'. Let's be honest, I hardly go to the fucking toilet to rest! Mostly you will find me squeezing shit out of my arse and that certainly isn't restful.

I'm going to bed now.

Adieu to you and you and you.

God I fucking hate The Sound of Music...full off bastard nazis.

Nos da x

Trouble

The sheep escaped onto the road. I had to shoot one as it got hit by a shovel. Bastards!

On a hill

The monastery is beautiful, right at the top of the tallest part of the island, facing into the Irish Sea and backing onto the beauty of the Welsh mountains on the mainland. The position is sensible as it means we act as a beacon (a working lighthouse occupies the tower) to those at sea and also that we can signal the coastguard and lifeboat stations when normal communication is down. Near the top of the hill there's a freshwater spring that flows down into the village and into tanks for the people there to use. I'm amazed freshwater pushes that far up, but I'm not one to question why it happens. Rather I just give thanks to the Lord that we have fresh water each day. Aqua Vitae! We tend the area round where the spring introduces itself, keeping it fenced and protected from our livestock that would otherwise drink directly from it or, indeed, defecate into it. Imagine what the village would suffer if we weren't there to maintain such defences!

And that's exactly what I pointed out to the Bank Manager when he said he would freeze our account. I grabbed the bastard and threatened to batter him and get all the animals to piss and shit into the spring every day until he backed down.

Needless to say, our account is now open and free to use with a larger overdraft facility. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the Monks piss and shit in the spring anyway! Speccy bastard.

Brevity

I'll have to brief in wishing you all good morning as I have many things to do. I've been awake for several hours preparing herbs and collecting berries, but the work starts properly from here.

I've been set a task by the Bishop in response to the appearance of several bastards of problems that have been left unattended and it will mean that I have to go to town today. My code of silence has been lifted in that respect so that I can go and ask the Bank Manager '...just what the fuck he thinks he is doing' as the Bishop puts it.

The other brethren are all up and about, doing all sorts of shit. I think I saw Father Bradley gluing pornographic pictures into the books of Doxologies and Chants of mediaeval Europe. He does it most weeks but forgets to stop despite the frequent punishment.

Got to go and have a quick 'evacuation' now so I bid you good morning. I shall report my findings later today.

Health Check: Is weeing in the shower bad?

Meditation

Just before we all retire to our personal quarters, I want to share a thought.

For a brief time a short while ago I became involved - in a coaching capacity - with Colchester United. I want you all to stop and think for a while about what it means to languish in the lower leagues of the footballing divisions. Moreover, think about how it mirrors our own lives. Success is fleeting, so make a mark whilst you still have a chance.

Their boot-cleaner is a twat as well.

Trial by marshmallow

They ran out of marshmallow bell-ends! Got me some coconut fannies though. The chocolate-flavoured testicles were a bit warm and looked as if they had been 'handled' somewhat, so I left them. Father Bradley compensated this problem by kindly purchasing cola bottles.

Got some posh bread as well and some KP nuts for tomorrow; we're doing a DVD night at the monastery! Tops or what? I think we're watching The Devil's Advocate and Hell Boy. Father Gibbon has smuggled in some Cuban cigars.

Nearly battered this nerdy-looking bloke at the counter as well because he moved the 'Next Customer' sign away from the placement I gave it. I held back though because my cassock was bulging with treats from the drinks aisle.

HEALTH CHECK: All is well

Squash

I'm still waiting to go to the shop, but I'm having a squash-drinking compo with Father Bradley. I've downed seven glasses of Orange Barley already but I feel like spewing. A friend back on the mainland did Gin and Orange Barley once and spewed all orangey stuff around his house. I forget many things about the 'outside', but that stays with me.

My t-shirt is orange (under my garments - don't tell the Bishop).

Shops

I'm going to Asda in a minute. I fucking hate Asda. Some big American firm called Mal-Fart or some such took it over.

On the plus-side, cassocks are good for shoplifting.

Queen?

I had a dream last night...

I remember walking along and seeing the Queen of England waving from a window. The window was transluscent but I knew it was her. I don't even believe in the Queen!

How queer.

HEALTH CHECK: Slept awkwardly and shitted my shoulder up.

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.

Bugger

Father Gibbon has got the bastard bike again, and he's pissing up and down the hill on it. He wrote on a piece of paper that he was going to steal eggs from Father Bradley. Father Bradley's a headcase with parrots in every fucking room. He sells the eggs to people away from the island and uses the cash down the pub. He plays pool against pregnant teenagers and fucks them over every time.

We're not allowed to speak most of the time except for 2 hours of lunch and fag breaks. Father Bradley went loopy a while ago and keeps saying COCK COCK COCK all the time. Father Gibbon on the other hand uses his talking time to good effect by phoning chat-lines and all sorts on the Bishop's phone. Father Bradley did it once but he scared the poor bastard on the other end when he kept saying COCK COCK.

I'm off to meditate now - got to do 6hrs a day of the shit. Got to think about all sorts in this place. We're Cistercian Monks. The landlords of this monastery are Hindu. That takes 6hrs to come to terms with every day. Top people, just poles apart.

HEALTHCHECK: Testicles swollen.