Space Journal - Day 4

Phew, yet another eventful day. Mostly running. I managed to escape from those nutty gentry. I'd luckily managed to lay out the table for breakfast with the wrong cutlery which bought me some time as they tried to rectify it before the rest of the guests woke. There have also been developments in tracking down that signal, after escaping in my ship I traced the signal to a small town named Plotus Contrivus. It can only assume it is a language similar to Latin back home. It turned out that the signal was in fact on a planet deeper into this solar system. I asked the locals (who peculiarly seemed to specialise in communications and thus were able to find the signal I was looking for. Another stroke of luck.) Who told me of wizards living on the planet from which the signal was coming from. I can only assume it was they who confounded my radar, and so, re-fuelled and refreshed I set off this evening to this new planet and to the truth.

Space Journal - Day 3

It has been a day of much commotion. A strange man with appalling etiquette has fallen from the sky in a most peculiar craft, and he has the nerve to appear in good company without a tail. It was all I could do to remain conscious, for I fear my constitution took a most dreadful knock from his offensive demeanour. He also made peculiar references to Lady Garrington's magnificent crystal jugs, which I can only begin to describe as masking thoughts of the most base and beastly nature.

He is also a frightful embarrassment to our guests, even refusing to accompany us on our outing to mock the poor. And so we convened in order to decide a correct course of action to undertake in order to avert further embarrassment. Thus we have come to the decision to discreetly do away with him, lest my constitution waver once more. The indelicate task shall be carried out by Papa in the evening so we may be rid of the interloper forthwith.

Bloody hell. I shouldn't have left this diary in such an open place, but I did not realise how stupid the natives are to write in it. I mustn't stay writing, I've got to escape immediately!

Space Journal - Day 2

Good news everyone! I'm alive...I think. I'm writing this anyway. And it seems there is life on the other side of a black hole. I followed the distress signal to a nearby planet and I must say, alternate realities aren't what they're cracked up to be. Everything's the same! Well, apart from everyone having cat-like tails and behaviour, and the fact that Earth was blown up two centuries ago. But where was I? Ah yes, I landed on a planet (which freaked out the natives, they seemed to be approximately average to Earth's development in the early 19th Century.) However, I luckily managed to be accepted into their society via a rather roundabout series of soirees at the estates of much of the landed gentry in the immediate area. But, I feel I must confide in this here diary, about one of the gentlemen I met during one of these seemingly endless bloody balls they keep having, (and all that dancing) for I overheard him making slanderous comments about my lack of a tail before going off to "mark his territory" around the grounds. I was most repulsed. (I fear too that my use of "carry on" style humour did little to ease the tension.) Furthermore, the natives seem to busy themselves fretting over marriage arrangements and minor gossip over how some dreadfully boring woman can't crochet. From these rough field notes I can safely deduce that this land is populated by a bunch of po-faced bastards. I can only hope that I trace this distress signal fast and escape this dour planet. I fear that I too may soon become interested Lady Catherine's polite encounters with Mr. Hartley rather than the fact that I was to be forced into a frock coat and go to laugh at the peasants...

Space Journal - Day 1

An epic quest has begun! Having wandered deep space for many months now, no companion but Computer, I had begun to think if there really was any profit to be made as a galactic community police force. I had been assigned a sector of 100,000,000,000 metres squared to police. Population: 7. But today Computer recieved a distress call, (recited in the standard New Zealand accent common to all galactic police forces.) It directed us to an area of space we hadn't traversed before, though that may be due to the bloody great Black Hole present in the area. Even as I write this, we are being sucked into it's gravitational vortex. Bits of my brain feel tuesday, and I'm pretty sure six of my eight senses are being mixed up. Computer seems to have begun reciting "knees up mother brown" And I'm beginning to talk in 0001111011001111010111. It's a one way trip to the unknown. This distress call had better be urgent...