Suburban Resident Evil: The Diary of Raymond Schnook
Date: Sunday, 2nd August 1989
Time: 13:49
Location: Back Garden
I’ve taken my temperature and it’s slightly higher than it should be. Blood pressure, rising. Tenseness, shortness of breath, all on the increase.
This is starting to scare me. A friend of mine warned me during a CND march a few years back that this might start to occur. He told me not to leave Shepherd’s Bush. That it was dangerous out there. Strange things happen. It’s not safe. Of course I didn’t disbelieve him, but things changed. I got a job with the Union Jack Umbrella Corp, based in White City.
I bought a little Semi out in Ruislip and everything just seemed to fall into place. Nice easy ride straight to my office on the Central Line. All the boxes suddenly became ticked. I even promised my old pals that I’d still be able to meet up with them, stay part of the scene.
But, I don’t know, what with one thing and another, life just…hasn’t really…worked out that way.
I’m nodding off now, and the kids are playing with their football in front of me. I hope they don’t kick it too hard, they might upset the neighbours. And I can’t afford to row with them again, not since the little difficulty we had with them over the tree-lopping incident.
When I wake up, I’ll pop down to the local newsagents and put a stop on my subscription to the Observer. I don’t know why. It just doesn’t seem to do it for me these days. I find it rather irritating. But this is the problem I’m having the last few weeks. Everything seems to get under my skin.
I guess you could say I’m a chip off the old block. My father was a bit like that, from what I can remember. But I shall be ok. All roads lead to Rome. And time waits for no man, so I must cut this entry short.
It’s been a difficult year to be sure, but once I settle into my job at the Union Jack Umbella Corp, and I can get on top of these mortgage repayments, and replace the Vauxhall Corsa with something a little snazzy, Ooh I don’t know, like a Meriva, it’ll all be ok.
Signing off
Raymond Schnook.
Date: Tuesday, 11th March 1990
Time: 08:23
Location: White City Tube Station, public convenience
I feel dreadful. I’m having violent images flash up in front of me, and strange voices creeping in my head. The headaches are getting worse, and even though it runs contrary to my nature, these sudden surges of anger and resentment ebb and flow in me like some kind of vicious tide.
It started when I was at the station this morning. I was sat there, waiting for my usual train to arrive, and I started flicking through my regular copy of the Daily Mail. I read the front page, then went to page 2 and began digesting a story on house prices. By the time I got to page 4, and I was half way informing myself about a new cancer risk, I glanced up and saw something that made me sick.
Two men walking along the platform…hand in hand. I stood up and hurled vomit over the taller one’s shoes. And it was at that point that things started to go wrong. Because this horrid little, I can’t even think straight…I need a doctor. This THING, spoke to me. It said “excuse me.”
Well, what was I supposed to do? I have the right to defend myself and my family. This man threatened me, with his disgusting homosexual ways and his ‘excuse me’. So I pushed them both onto the line and one of them exploded with the electric shock, shortly before the tube ran over them. Which explains why my suit is ruined and I need to put it into the dry cleaners and buy a new one. But it’s not all bad, I got a photo of them before they died!
And now I’m going to be late for work! Oh bloody hell, what’s my line manager Giles going to say?
This is just one of those days, isn’t it? Oh well. Fortune favours the brave. At least I have learned from my error. Next time I shall pack a spare suit in my holdall. After all, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
Now why DO all these lazy layabout black people think they can get away with working on the London Underground when they should be picking cotton?
*sigh* never mind.
Signing out
Raymond Schnook
Date: Friday, 13th June 1991
Time: 19:49
Location: local park, walking the dog
It’s cold, it’s coold, Hmm, me, me, mmme, mmm. Mmmmm. Yes. Cold. House prices, high, going up. No Down! It’s Princess Di and that dirty arab why? why? Go away! I can see them, I can see them ALL! Feral youths, dirty little shits SHITS! ASBO chavs, scum. House prices. Cancer. Tax payers..me, that’s me, I’m a tax payer they are wasting OUR money. Yet why do they insist on calling themselves human? Thatcher great, no! too lefty, now look, big greedy fat cats and their pay, rich people! Bloody rich people tax them! Not fair, mortgage. Mortgage. Mortgage repayment on a fixed annual endowment policy with Sun Alliance but it doesn’t mature until the APR disappears on my credit cars and my GREEDY little ingrate children grow up and then what? My pension is GONE because of that evil PC lefty PC PC PC Gordon Brown left wing bastard useless Tories USELESS where are they, no-where that’s where, serving little fucking pro EU sell out lefty elf n safety NAZIS!!!
I mean, who on earth where in the world why oh why, hold on a minute here, who is going to DO something about the gays in this park and who is going to help me track down and bring to justice all the johnny foreign darkie bastard negros and police and parking wardens and all these other PC brigade abortion loving low life chav ASBO lay about unemployed loafing little feral youth common as muck ‘people’ EH?
Hmmm. MMM YES. Well. We’ll see! I have my lovely Barny here, don’t I? Hello Barny. See that single mother lefty over there? That’s your dinner that is.
Date: Some time in the early 21st Century
Time: Unknown
Location: Unknown
mugh. Mm.
Dacre. Little…j…Me. Need. To be told…what to think.
Mmmmm.. Yug. I need…to feeeeeeed.
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