The trip's cancelled (so we've decided to go anyway)

Dear Diary,

My well-read and 'learned' superior, the Lilliputian (a.k.a. the poisoned dwarf, a.k.a. the Butcher, a.k.a. the Baker, a.k.a. the Candlestick Maker) was a source of surprising wisdom yesterday. Normally, the rotten little oopma loompa hasn't a good word to say about anybody, but yesterday my seventeen year old boss came out with a surprising gem of wisdom. She said to my other - teenaged - superior (the simpleton from the village) "In a world where you could be anything, be kind." The village idiot replied, "What [did you say]?" The little oompa loompa replied with the same phrase. It doesn't matter that she's seen it on a mug from Etsy or perhaps on a T-shirt, it was important that the young tyrant seems to be developing a conscience. It wasn't long before Captain Bligh and his crew from Lord of the Flies went back to their usual riot of throwing things, yelling and making farmyard animal noises like some chimps' tea-party. The Lilliputian is gradually breaking away from her nickname: "the Merciless". This is the young lady who when asked who [Mahatma] Ghandi was, replied, "The President of Africa" (her academic specialism in the 6th form is geography [travel and tourism], by the way).

In any case, at that... place (Orcus, Hades, the bower of Persephone and Pluto) the "Olympian gods" (Captain Bligh, the older Brute and other Eastern European gangsters - the management) decided to cancel the trip to the festival, thus throwing everyone's plans in disarray and crushing any hope of escaping the Bounty, if only for a brief while. So, seeing as I had already made plans to go to the festival (with the most beautiful woman in the world), I decided to go anyway, being granted permission in a rare instance of humanity and grace by our otherwise cruel and bully of a Captain. It is only 24 hours of shore leave, but enough to get away from the Bounty (Tartarus - the furthest corner of the Infernal Regions). I cannot afford it (because I work for minimum wage doing unskilled labour - as does the person I am going with, because, well, that's what you do with a master's degree in Dark Age Britain - this is not a civilised country, even if it pretends - and pretends very well - to be, to the outside world).

In the meantime I am still finalising my essay on ancient symbolism (research for which I am paid nothing, naturally, because, well, that's what you do with your master's degree in Dark Age Britain - more work for less money: slavery, however you dress it up and pretend it's something its not). Yesterday I translated part of a (Latin) text which has never before been translated into English. Again, this is worthless, but that's okay too. This is not Renaissance Italy, evidently: it's Dark Age Britain, land of beggars, paupers and slaves.