11^th June 2017

Ah, diary, how I’ve missed your blank, papery stare.
    I know it’s been a long time since my last entry but Brad Pitt kept me locked in his greenhouse for the past five months. That’s what I get for trying to rustle his cattle, I suppose. I knew the risks going in.
    I finally managed to escape this morning by disguising myself as a pack of Werther’s Original, Brad’s one weakness. Still, my imprisonment gave me plenty of time to think and even taught me a few things, such as how a man can survive on tomatoes and rage alone.
    When I returned home, imagine my surprise at finding an 18th-century sailor squatting in my house. But he cooks a hell of an omelette so I’ll probably let him hang around for now. Although I’ve warned him that if I ever find a single mushroom in mine then I’ll sell him to the shifty wallpaper salesman who lives next door.
    It’s been a long day, it’ll be nice to finally sleep in my own bed again once I’ve reclaimed it from the ghosts in my shed.