Day 1 - 15th October 1815
The boat finally reached its destination this morning; henceforth I find myself deposited on the island of St Helena like a bad smell. So many miles away from France, from civilization, from my dear Josephine!
Day 17
Am slowly growing accustomed to my surroundings. Longwood House, my dwelling from now to eternity, is stoutly built, handsome, impenetrable. Death by boredom it is then.
Day 22
Wake up, breakfast, shave, lie down, toilet, sit down, lunch, sit down, lie down, toilet, sit down, dinner, toilet, lie down. Sorry, are you drifting off?
Day 30
To ease the blues of isolation I requested a soufflé for dessert tonight. The chef really came through. To coin a novel phrase, it simply melted in the mouth.
Day 47
Tell you what, this would all be so much worse were it not for the food here. Tonight’s main course was a delectable beef bourguignon. Yummers!
Day 62
Continuing to eat very well indeed. Today’s feast included a heavenly cream of chicken soup. Whatever did I do to deserve this?
Day 71
Merry Christmas! Ate more today than I thought humanly possible. Turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, the whole works. Feel as though I might burst open any minute. Oh well, you only live once, I say!
Day 79
Have spent the past 8 days laid low by some wretched malady. Could it have been something I ate? I should really mind what I eat for a little while.
Day 81
Tuesday night is lobster night! Pass the butter.
Day 85
Sick again! Going forward I should really stick to bottled water.
Day 95
Yesterday I heard the chef giggling as he prepared my huevos rancheros. He seems quite eager that I gorge myself on his offerings.
Day 116
The servant who passed me my breakfast burrito could hardly suppress a cackle as he returned to the kitchen.
Day 144
Each day I grow more wary of the chef’s nefarious intentions. From now on I shall tread very carefully.
Day 161
Ooh, profiteroles!
Day 162
Teeth fell out.
Day 181
Back to eating solids after a lengthy spell in the sick ward. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the chef was trying to lay waste to me.
Day 236
Tonight was fried chicken night. Absolutely sumptuous. I could not stop licking my fingers afterwards.
Day 237
The chef wouldn’t tell me which 9 herbs and spices he used to season last night’s chicken, so I took my footstool and snuck into the storeroom while everyone was asleep. Upon the shelf I glimpsed the mystery ingredient: "Arsenic". Never heard of it. Delicious though. Will have to bring some home for my dear Josephine, should I ever return.
Day 251
Floored by yet another foul affliction. Vomiting, shakiness, a steady secretion of gunk from my insides. Have decided to give the chef the benefit of the doubt. Not every dish can be a home run!
Day 256
Didn’t I used to have ten toes?
Day 280
The non-stop culinary carnival continues. Tonight we feasted on chicken, wrapped in duck, wrapped in turkey, wrapped in greasy tortilla.
Day 301
Spent most of today perusing the island’s library. Read that one can die from overconsumption. Perhaps I should cut down.
Day 302
The doctor paid a visit to my quarters to advise there is no such thing as overconsumption, and I shouldn’t believe everything I believe in the Royal British Medical Journal. He suggested I should probably try eating more.
Day 378
Dined with the British Ambassador tonight. He left behind some bottles of drink. Not sure what’s in them. Some edgy new brand with a badass ‘skull and crossbones’ aesthetic. I shall treat myself to a tipple later this evening.
Day 379
Was rudely awoken in the night by a disturbing clanking. Think it might have been my liver.
Day 1,678
Woke up a little groggy this morning. Apparently I have been incapacitated for some time.
Day 1,692
Still in recovery, re-learning the basics. Am taking my meals using a straw.
Day 1,711
It’s amazing how much beef wellington one can slurp through a straw!
Day 1,764
Overheard the chef muttering again as he busied himself in the kitchen, something about the “surprise of my life”. Can’t wait!
Day 1,766
Happy birthday to me! The British have prepared me a magnificent cake, an enormous, tiered concoction. I cut it open and a tiny assassin jumped out, lurching straight for my neck. The little fella took some subduing, I can tell you! Say what you want about the British but they really commit to their pranks.
Day 1,859
Awoke this morning to find the chef floofing up my pillow for me. He then pressed it tightly over my face as if to say, “Feel how soft!”
Day 1,891
Today’s meal comprised an impressive selection of wild mushrooms. I asked the chef how he knew which ones were deadly poisonous, but I don’t think he heard me since my mouth was so full of mushrooms.
Day 1,933
Didn’t I used to have nine toes?
Day 2,016
The chef brought breakfast to me in bed this morning. He’d developed some weird tic whereby he kept referring to it as my “deathbed”.
Day 2,019
Didn’t I used to have two arms?
Day 2,027
The chef asked earlier what I might like my last meal to be. I said, “Ask me in 20 years!”
Day 2,029
The island priest stopped by this evening to deliver the last rites. I don’t care what they say, I’m going to hit that breakfast buffet tomorrow if it kills me.