Super secret spy log day 8,417: I'm getting closer to the truth, and by Lucifer, I say it's about time. One might think that after spending 23 years under cover (but not under much - even after all this time. I still have a recurring nightmare where I'm receiving an OBE from her Majesty only to look down and realise that I'm only wearing a sock) this business would get easier, but I promise you it doesn't.
Just this morning I had an overwhelming urge for a nice glass of chardonnay and a huge smothering of Roquefort on a water biscuit, but I couldn't risk my cover being blown at this late stage in the game. I "partied" with the band instead, but all the beer in the world cannot truly quench a thirst for a fine wine. SIGH.
On a more positive note, I feel that the end of my mission is in sight. If I can just gather the required amount of intel over the next day or two, I can finally break my cover and head home for a warm bath and a glass of bubbly. That's not to say there haven't been advantages to the undercover life - the ladies certainly have been impressive, I grant you. The fame and the adulation aren't too shabby, either.
But I do still feel just a little bit annoyed at the idea of SOME of my colleagues getting to live the jetset lifestyle in their white dinner jackets and sipping martinis while they do their spying. They don't have to get permanent - that's permanent tattoos - on their bodies to disguise the top-secret information they've collected, or microfilms layered into their skin for safekeeping. Some people just don't know they're born, if you ask me. I'm the one who's really on the front line.
Super secret spy log day 8,418: We did some interviews with a radio station this morning, answering some questions about the new album. Of course, not everyone wants you to talk about the music. Some people want us to prove that we're really the wild men of rock, so we usually have to strip off or smack a chair or yodel or something. It can be very demeaning; I graduated from Oxford with a first-class honours degree in international politics, you know.
Tonight's gig went well - not only were the crowd extremely receptive, but I'm sure I got some shots of the mark I've been tracking. Up to something nefarious, I have no doubt. It's a good job I've got a microscopic camera hidden in my guitar; no one suspected a thing.
I'm still amazed it does so much, actually - it's a remote trigger for small exploding devices, it's got a built-in lie detector and let's not forget that it whips up a mean continental breakfast. I suppose I shouldn't grumble, I do get certain aspects of the international superspy life to enjoy - although the tour bus is HARDLY an Aston Martin.
Meeting with base HQ in the morning. Hopefully they'll see some results.
Super secret spy log day 8,419: Success! All of my hard work has paid off, the mark has been apprehended and global peace is secured. I cannot even begin to describe the feeling that I get from knowing I proved that Mrs Kennilworth's husband really WAS having an affair with his secretary. I wonder what my next mission will be? Oops, got to go and gurn at some fans... ah, the shame!
