I have decided to become a diarist in the greatest tradition of Mr. Samuel Pepys, Mr. Adrian Mole and, of course, Mr. Fake Hitler.   When I become rich and famous, this chronicle will doubtless prove useful to historians as a description of my youth, but mainly it will be of use to my bank account. Celebrity diaries seem to rake in the filthy lucre, so I shall leap athletically onto the band wagon.   The whole idea of laying my most private life open to the eyes of the general populace is of the greatest distaste to me, so I have decided that the whole endeavour shall remain in the realms of fiction, never letting the nitty gritty tedium of day to day life get in the way of a good story.
			The characters and situations in this diary are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings. Any resemblance to such things is coincidental, or just for humourous effect. All names have been chosen to implicate the innocent.