The Diary of Piers D Baumøl Part 1

Hello there

My name is Piers. I am from Aachen in Denmark, but I have been living in the United British Kingdom for a quite long time now.

I am 27 and my friend Harry says I am "typically Danish". Which is nice of him. I have been working in the Civil Service for about a year and am still enjoying it. I have a good many friends there too.

Harry is probably my closest friend. If I am typically Danish, he is typically English. He is round and hairy, and makes the most wonderful combination of noises and smells from various parts of his body. His favourite habit seems to be scratching himself between the legs whenever Felicity walks by.

Felicity is my "line manager". We sometimes go out for drinks together when Harry has not managed to say something horrid. I think I may be in love with Felicity. She is very slim and pretty and has a tremendous "front bottom" (Harry says this is the "proper casual" way to refer to a lady's chest). She has rather a nice "back bottom" too...

Dan works on my team. He reminds me of a Finn. Very serious but with a very strong liver. He has not turned yellow yet, but it can only be a matter of time.

Linda B is also on my team. She loves Harry though Harry things she is "a bit of a boot". This has not stopped them sleeping together several times however.

Linda K is the last member of our little group. She is quite quiet, but Harry says this is a lie and that she is a "spankaholic", whatever one of those is. She does not like Harry much, but she still comes out with us.

I must get back on with today's accounts, but I shall write more later. I am going out for a quiet drink with Dan and Harry tonight so maybe that will provide some inspiration.

"Arsehole's Out!" (Harry says this is what you say when you drink someone's health in England)

Piers

Were' a bit faux-Satan really...

I think we need a bit of a redesign of the pages. Nothing personal against them and all that, but...well, it's called "Satan's Arse" and it looks like a Strawberry Cornetto.

Any of you any good at that?

I was sat opposite this oik on the train yesterday. He looked like an effete version of Prince Harry but with less brain power...I swear he was drooling. You could have written an essay on him - why chavs shouldn't be allowed to procreate. I mean, he was your stereotypical teenage maggot:

Baseball cap? - check! (Bonus points for it being a bland shade of grey)
Tracksuit top? - check! (also grey)
Tracksuit bottoms? - check! (and you guessed it, grey again)
Unlaced fat trainers? - check! (Whitey-grey)
Huge leg spreadage in excess of 90 degrees? - check!
Scowl as if he's just found out that his girlfriend has been sleeping with his pet labrador? - check!

He sat there noisily hoiking up phlegm and swilling it in his mouth, while occasionally letting out a little "tick" as he fired a miniscule bit across the carriage. Then he got out of the train and, I'm not kidding, it looked like projectile vomiting.

I wanted to ram his head into the trail of his sputum, then make him drink the interesting combination of phlegm, blood and gravel, before holding his head in front of the nearest express train. And I wanted to do this and receive a monetary award for services to humanity.

There's no justice in the world.

Welcome...

Welcome all to the foul mouth of Beelezebub.

Amongst other things I think we should follow the exciting adventures of Piers D Baumhøl.