Diary
I know, I know, a diary right? Pointless waste of space! I used to be like you. I also used to drive past diary-wielding people and laugh with the knowledge that I was not a diary slave and never would be, ever ever. A slave to all those times and dates, an afterthought to intense and troublesome organization that threatened to end my life by making every second of it as un-spontaneous as possible. But alas a day came, a day which would change the course of my life forever: the day when I would come across the beneficial elements of the diary and learn how it could make my life better than it already was (something which, with my seventeen girlfriends, numerous off-shore bank accounts and vintage sports-cars, I didn’t believe could be any better).
The day began with a walk. I hate walking (I use powered vehicles because let’s be honest they are much quicker and you don’t have to waste energy which is better spent getting in and out of the Jacuzzi or making my next Botox Manchester appointment), but I made an exception on this day because a good walk once or twice or year can do wonders for the mind.
(I didn’t have a diary up until then because let’s be honest, when you are stinking rich there really isn’t much need to be in line with other people’s plans.)
So there it was, an empty diary on the floor. I looked at it and thought “That’s what peasants use! I might even have a look at it!” And so I did. I looked at it. And I found that it offered unlimited doodling possibilities. Suddenly I had a doodle book I could carry around at all times without feeling in the least embarrassed. Such a great thing! Since that day I have gone through ten of them!
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