Diary of a Twisted Sister: La Femme Debita

Dear Diary,

They recalled me back to Section one today. I knew that it was just a matter of time before they did. I like to think that they couldn't live without my expertise and mission success rate, but I'm pretty sure it's because of all the secrets that I know. My knowledge of where the bodies are buried - so to speak. Or it could be that fact that George wants me to spy for him. A 'special assignment', he's called it. I'm gonna be the secret 'spychic' again. That's a good thing as far as I can see. I do so love spying and intrigue.

And George is such a sweetie! Oh, I know that most operatives think of him as the big cheese at Oversight - but I think of him as my 'lil pookie'. He looks so damn cute in that hot pink bustier and sky blue frilly panty ensemble, and when he adds the black fishnet stockings with the red 6-inch heel CFM pumps - well, my lil heart goes pitty-pat! Of course I show the suitable appreciation when he parades around the room singing along with my Rocky Horror Picture Show album. Oh, that man can make 'Sweet Transvestite' all his own - truly amazing!

And I wanna see my sister again. My fraternal twin sister Nikita. Although unfortunately she called in sick the day they were handing out the brains. She's beautiful like me, of course. But dumb - oh god she's dumb! At least she's dumb when compared to me. I am the twin with the superior intellect, after all. Well, you know what they say about blondes. With her, every word is true. It's been two years since I last saw her, and to be quite honest I'm amazed that she's still alive. But she is, so I wanna see her again. We have so much to talk about. Wonder if she's still screwing good ole Super Spy Mikey. Oh, those lovely green eyes and cute tight butt. Buns so tight you could bounce him off the ceiling - as I have done so many times. Wonder if sis knows that I've screwed Mikey too. Bet she doesn't!

But I must admit that the ones that I am looking forward to seeing again most is my fav duo Madeline and Operations. Or Maddy and Paul, as I call them. They are such a funny, warm, generous couple. I just love them to death, and I'm sure that the feeling is mutual. I'll just bet that they can't wait until I'm back in Section One again. Probably counting down the hours as I write. It will also be good to see Walter and Seymour again - oh lets face it! Section One is such a great place to be, I can't believe how much I have missed it!

Well, I better get some sleep now dear diary. I have to be up at the ungodly hour of 0900, ready to leave at 1100 hours precisely. Why I have to leave so goddamn early is beyond me. George knows full well that I am not a morning person. Why, I will barely have time to digest my light breakfast of chocolate croissants and French vanilla latte before I am whisked away at breakneck speed. George will get a spanking for this one when I get a moment...he knows I need my beauty sleep!

So until tomorrow Dear Diary - adieu!

************

Day 2.

Oh I am not happy Dear Diary! Not happy one little bit! Just what kind of game are they playing? I am so mad at the moment that I am afraid that my face will be permanently lined - and that will not do. I must maintain my flawless complexion after all. It is my duty as a beautiful, seductive goddess; a woman who can drive men wild with desire with just one look or a crook of my tiny delicate pinkie finger; a woman that other woman only dream of being...but I digress, Dear Diary.

I arrived at Section One this morning - well it was 11.55 hours so that's still morning as far as I'm concerned. Oh, the décor! What a cold, drab little place. No colour or light at all. That will have to change. The Feng Shui is completely out of alignment; the negative energy hits you straight in the face. How on earth are operatives supposed to be happy in their job if they feel so sad in their surroundings? A happy workplace leads to a happy operative after all. My god, even a few plants would create some light and balance in the area. And a few nice chintz curtains along the access tunnels wouldn't go astray either, with the walls painted nice pastels. I can see that right from the start this place is in desperate need of my help. I'll leave that project for another day though.

So you can imagine, Dear Diary that I was not in the best of moods as soon as I entered Section. And then I noticed that there was no welcoming committee, nobody rushing to embrace me, no sister waiting to see me. That was most upsetting. But it still wasn't too bad, because standing there was my dear friend Madeline. Still gorgeous as always, the years have been kind to her. And she was wearing one of those cute little Armani business suits, all in basic black. The woman always did know how to dress, and she had been most grateful with those little fashion tips that I had given her a few years ago.

As I rushed forward to embrace my dear, dear friend she held her hand up and stopped me! Stopped me dead in my tracks! I was slightly miffed, I don't mind telling you. But I thought to myself 'Oh of course, mustn't show too much emotion in front of the help - EVER!' But all my hopes were crushed, Dear Diary, when she coldly informed me things were to change. I would be an ordinary Level 2 operative and that I was scheduled to go on a mission at 1400 hours! And not even a valentine mission - a recon mission! Well, of course I laughed most heartily. What a devious trick to try and upset me. And Maddy looked so strict as well, I almost believed her for a moment. Madeline then calmly informed me that it was no laughing matter; I would comply or be cancelled, and then informed me that I was to have shared quarters on sub-level 13. Then told me to pick up my own luggage and follow Davenport!

Well, that was the final straw! Carry my own luggage indeed! This had now gone too far, and Maddy had left me no choice but to bring out the big guns. I rarely like to let my temper get the better of me, you understand, a lady has certain standards that must be maintained. But she needed to be reminded of just whom it was that she was dealing with. So without further ado, I moved closer to her and whispered softly in her ear, so quietly so that others were unable to catch what I said, the three little words that she dreaded to hear. "Pink Bunny Slippers."

Dear Diary, those words had the desired effect, as I knew that they would. She went even paler than normal and turned quickly to Davenport and told him to take my luggage to the stateroom quarters on the third level, and that I was to rest until this evenings debrief at 20.00 hours. My mission had been rescheduled with another operative and I was no longer needed.

I smiled politely at that and followed Davenport to my new quarters. I must say that his butt is also nice and tight - it was lovely to watch it wiggle in front of me as I followed. But I was so hurt, mad and angry at my greeting that I didn't feel like jumping his bones as soon as we had reached my quarters. And you just know how much I like to use sex as a relaxant. That's how upset I was!

So when he left my quarters, I just gave his arse a nice feel and let him go and then came straight to you, Dear Diary, so that I could tell you what had happened. I think that I will go and have a little lie down now with a cool cucumber compress for my eyes. This mornings events have just proven far to stressful for my delicate constitution. Until later, Dear Diary. Adieu....

************

Day 4

Oh Dear Diary, how can you ever understand the heartache, the pain, the utter devastation that I am feeling. The pain, oh the pain! I am crushed, Dear Diary, just absolutely crushed! It has taken me a whole day and half a night to be able to drag my poor, feeble, heartbroken shattered self to you to pour out my anguish.

How could they have done it Dear Diary? How could my sweet, innocent, brain-cell depleted sister have allowed them to do it? Yes, Dear Diary, I have finally had my longed for meeting with my younger sibling. (Well that half hour makes all the difference in maturity, it is quite obvious). And what I have discovered Dear Diary is just too cruel, too horrible, too evil, to EVER have been imagined.

Nikita has lost her Australian accent. Yes, Dear Diary, Nikita has succumbed to the fate of so many of my fellow countrymen in the face of overseas adversity. Her accent has been replaced with a faux Americanised drawl. Our exclusive language, indicative to all twins, is no more. And the loss that I feel is truly a deep pain within. I have transcribed a short part of our conversation from the previous night after the debrief below for prosperity.

" Oy, Keeda mate, howyagoin?"

To which she haughtily replied, "Oh Debita, I am fine thank you ever so much for enquiring."

My horrified response, "Jeezus Friggin Christ, what the bloody friggen 'ell have they done to ya? Ya sound like a friggin high all mighty, shit-don't-stink, up-yaself Pom! Whadareya, queen of bloody England or someping?"

Just typical sisterly banter you understand, Dear Diary, the likes that you have heard so many times before. Nikita then calmly informed me that she had undergone years of intense language therapy and diction lessons so that she could be understood clearly by Section operatives and, more importantly to her, Michael. She had tried to fake it so many times, but had failed. I was completely thunderstruck, Dear Diary, as you can imagine. A sister of mine unable to fake even the simplest of accents so that she may be understood? She had completely forgotten my advice to just drawl a little bit and slow her speech down a fraction. Apparently I had omitted to write it down. I knew, Dear Diary that I should have had it tattooed to her wrist!

So what did I do you ask? Why, Dear Diary, I did the only thing that I possibly could've. Called her a "Stoopid friggin dag", and ran from the room. I have been prostrate with grief in my room since then. I'm sorry, Dear Diary, I can no longer continue any further, the tears are obscuring my view. I shall return in a few days when I am able. Until then Dear Diary, adieu...

************

Day 5 - Additional information.

Oh Dear Diary, I just had to add to you on this glorious day to tell you all about my stupendous visitors that I have had tonight. I have managed to drag my love weary, orgasmatised, climaxerised, over-loved, nerve tingling body from my bed to explain - but I have got ahead of myself once again Dear Diary.

As you well know, I left you earlier this evening after someone was rudely pounding on my door. You can well imagine my surprise when I flung open the door as I seductively purred from my luscious lips "Jeez mate, hang on to ya 'orses. Where's the friggin' fire", only to discover the Adonis that was Michael standing before me. He then proceeded to enter my room, giving me one of those famous I-can't-believe-just-how-gorgeous-you-really-are stares that I have seen on the faces of the weaker sex So many times before. Dear Diary, a look that I, as a supremely seductive and beautiful living goddess, have learned to live with.

He then proceeded to inform me in that funny little accent of his that I was supposed to have come down to the briefing area when called and not hung up. That I should have remembered that my code name was Marie Josephine, and once I heard it I was supposed to drop everything and run to Section. Of course, Michael told me all this in that endearing way he has always had - without moving his lips at all, no expression on his face and not looking at me but around the room. An endearing way that I could tolerate no longer now than I could years ago. I responded in the same way I did then - snapping my fingers in front of his face and coaxing him to "focus, focus - I'm here Michael. Look at me, look at me, look...at...me..." Thank God, Dear Diary, he managed to blink once and then focus upon my radiant visage.

I then continued, using my pet name for him that I gave him oh those many years ago as we lay in the fragrant grasses of the English Hills, our warm bodies softly caressed by the slowing drifting breezes, our hearts pounding as one as we...Oh, Dear Diary, I have digressed again! Well, I continued in my softly coaxing dulcet tones so as not to surprise him - and also so that the darling boy would understand that he had severely vexed me...

"Oh Possum, you silly, silly little darling boy! You should remember oh so well from those many golden nights that we spent together as I subliminally coerced you to memorise the 'Living Goddess Guide to Good Manners' that it is most impolite to demand a ladies presence! One should always appear on a ladies doorstep with the regulatory flowers and chocolates to escort her gently to her destination as she walks upon a bed of fragrant rose petals and frangipani. NOTHIN'S FUCKEN CHANGED, YA DICK! THAT RULE IS A GIVEN!"

And then, Dear Diary, it was obvious that my presence had enflamed him to the point that he could no longer contain himself. And who, I may ask, could blame him? We are, after all, talking about moi. Michael pulled my willing body towards him and buried his face in my ample (size 38DD) bosoms; crying and mewling like a baby. Well Dear Diary, there was only once option open to me at this time. It had been 3 days since I had engaged in the fine gentle art of a good root, so I did what any red-blooded, All-Australian, Living goddess could do. I jumped that puppy's bones until he almost snapped!

We then proceeded to have the best bonk session that I have had, well, since I got to Section One. Well, ok, so it's my only one at this stage - but that doesn't make it any less memorable. The things that man can do with his mouth as he gently serenades a lover with a romantic nose-whistle version of Unchained Melody is nothing short of amazing! I had so many orgasms, Dear Diary, that I lost count after 22. And the best part was that I never lifted a finger! As any self-respecting goddess will tell you - it's not the giving, it's the getting. And I got...Oh baby, did I get!

So now I lay here in languid bliss reliving that encounter - I find that I am now a tad tired Dear Diary. So I will have to enthral you with the tale of my other visitor this sex-filled night at another time. Until then, Dear Diary, adieu...adieu!

************

Day 9

Oh Dear Diary, you have no idea at the pain and suffering that I have endured since last we spoke. It has been several days since my last entry, and after briefly reviewing it, my heart and soul weeps at the optimism and happiness evident. Oh how quickly cruel fate intervened to turn my gloriously radiant smile upside down until it was (albeit still stunning) a heartbreakingly haunting frown. And, Dear Diary, I am at a loss to explain just why I was singled out in such a vile and nasty fashion. Oh the anguish that I am feeling is immeasurable. Damn cruel fate that has so callously treated a living goddess this way!

Forgive me, Dear Diary, I must leave you temporarily to soak my weary, heartsick abused body in my lavender scented, state-of-the-art, hydrotherapy approved, thermo-adjusted, vigoro-spa that Davenport has so lovingly drawn for me. The man is a godsend in this my hour of need. And wait...is it...yes I can just make it out...oh glory be! He has even thought to place a pitcher of my favourite Iced-mango margaritas in close proximity. Oh Dear Diary, I shall return shortly anon with details of the horror that I have endured...

************

Day 9 - continued.

Oh Dear Diary, I'm back. And how glorious I feel. My bath was just divine, and then Davenport insisted on giving me in a full body massage. Personally, Dear Diary, I think the man just wanted another opportunity to rub his hands all over my glorious, voluptuous body (did I mention that Davenport was one of my gentlemen callers of a few nights ago?) Any excuse will do. But then, Dear Diary, how can I blame him? The man is only human after all. How often do mere mortals get the chance to spend so much up close and personal time with a living, breathing goddess? It's no wonder the man will come up with any reason to place his hard, firm hands upon me, with those long, long fingers...

But I digress, Dear Diary. And I am sure that you are perched upon the veritable edge of your seat waiting the unveiling of the explanation as to just what it is that has caused me such angst. So wait no more, my trusted confidante. I will divulge all - as horrific as it is. You deserve to know the depths that some will sink. The pettiness. The jealousy. The just plain meanness!

It all started the morning after my several night callers, the night that I was so deliciously loved by so many. And loved so well. But here I go digressing again Dear Diary. The next morning I was rudely awakened at 0800 hours and coldly informed by an impersonal synthesised voice to appear post haste in Madeline's office, where I would be informed of my next mission. Well, you can imagine that I was less than impressed because as you know, I just don't "do" missions. Especially at that ungodly hour of the morning! But I actually did drag my reluctant bleary-eyed body down to Madeline's office if for no other reason than to give somebody a piece of my mind.

So you can also well imagine my shock to be informed that I was scheduled to go out on a mission - and the orders had come from the highest echelon in Oversight. Oh heads will roll for this one! I just stood there, Dear Diary, my body growing number and number as the mission parameters were explained, the shear vileness of a magnitude that I could only have glimpsed upon in my wildest dreams. Dear Diary, I was to spend the next few days undercover as a checkout chick at K-mart! But that was not the worst of it, Dear Diary. Oh no! I was also to be suitably attired. In polyester and rayon! And *gasp* black cotton undergarments, whose straps can be seen above the sleeves of the top shirt! And chew gum incessantly. And have to utter the following phrases "Price check - register 3. Ladies carefree tampons. Jumbo box 80 super size", and " Price check - register 4. Is the two-for-1 ladies nylon stockings available under a coupon discount?" Oh the humanity! It seems that Section One was forced to try and prevent the newest scum of the earth from trying to corner the market in ladies hosiery. A brilliant plan if I do say so myself.

And this was all told to me so coldly by my darling friend Madeline. There was no warm smile, no kind glance, and no hint of humour in her voice. What had happened to our enduring camaraderie? It was almost as if she was deriving some sort of perverse satisfaction out of my discomfort. And that wasn't like the Madeline that I know and love so dearly. That, Dear Diary, was the cruellest cut of all. As I forlornly made my way from her office, my mission PDA panel clutched in my exquisitely jewel adorned fingers, I could have sworn that I heard her mutter softly "That will teach her to entertain Paul in her quarters!" But of course I must have been mistaken...

And so Dear Diary, now you know just what has happened to me over the last few days. And why my body is so tired and abused. Do you know just how exhausting it is to deal with customer complaints and refunds all day? And it seems that checkout chicks are also required to restock some of the shelves. Why, I even chipped a nail!

But now, Dear Diary, I can no longer continue. The retelling of this traumatic mission has given me a headache. I feel that I need Davenport's therapeutic hands for another massage. But before I go, I think that I may just have to give that last comment that I'm sure I heard from Madeline some more thought. Oh the silly girl - she can't possibly be jealous of Paul visiting me the other night! Why if she only knew...but on that note Dear Diary I will have to leave that for another night. Until then, Dear Diary, adieu...

************

Day 12

Oh Dear Diary, will this suffering never end! The things that I have had to continue to endure would make your poor little ole hair curl. Even without the added help of Sunsilk Extra-Hold Curl Spritz. My intense misery is fast approaching a level of intolerance, I can tell you. Thank god my naturally sunny disposition, supreme goddess-like demeanour and radiant visage enables me to make the best out of any situation. My dear friend Maddy has turned on me, Dear Diary, turned on me so cruelly that I am almost tempted to exert my awesome power of manipulation and cunning against her. Or ring my little lil pookie darling George. But first let me explain my predicament to you, Dear Diary. Speaking to you my most trusted friend and confidante has always had the ability to allow me to focus and arrive at the correct course of action.

It all started the other day after my horrid (shudder) K-Mart mission - which I will not go into again, Dear Diary. The wounds are still so fresh. Anyway, it all started when Madeline happenstanced upon Paul and myself enjoying a light afternoon repast in the Tower. Just laughing and joking as old friends do, talking about a few things. And I must admit, Dear Diary that perhaps Paul was flirting with me a little bit. He is only human after all. It must be so hard for mere mortals to bask in my glorious presence and control themselves. But it is something that I have learned to live with, as you well know, Dear Diary. Chapter 13 of the Living Goddess Manual deals with just this subject. But here I go digressing again, Dear Diary.

Well, as I was saying, Paul and I were enjoying a light repast in the Tower and had been there for just over 2 hours. One cannot rush the consumption of sustenance, Dear Diary. It is bad for the digestion, as you know. Rule 67 sub-paragraph 4 of the Living Goddess manual will tell you that a goddess must never allow a build-up of gas to occur. It just isn't done. Anyway, there we were enjoying our light meal when suddenly I felt a distinct chill in the air, an almost glacial artic wind that had arisen. Glancing up at Paul, I was completely amazed to see all colour drain from his face and he quickly stumbled to his feet and started stuttering and stammering. I looked around and saw my darling friend Maddy standing in the doorway, looking as lovely as usual. I was just about to comment on how fetching her Armani suit was with the faux leopard print collar, when she turned her head and she glanced at me. Oh I was stunned, Dear Diary. Stunned I tell you! The look she gave me was indescribable. There was absolutely no expression on her face at all. It was as if all feeling and emotion had left, and she was but an empty shell devoid of, well, anything!

Where was the sweet little smile? Where was the twinkle in her eyes? Where was the warmth of her personality? It was gone, Dear Diary, gone! And her voice! Totally devoid of all feeling as well as she calmly and softly informed Paul that there was an urgent mission that needed his attention. It would seem that the silly man had accidentally deactivated communications - both his comm.-link and his mobile and had been unreachable. But the way he was stuttering and stammering as Maddy looked at him and then me, you'd think that we had been doing something completely covert and underhanded. And as you know, Dear Diary, that was not the way that Section One operated. EVER!

As Paul quickly made his way back to the Perch - almost running with his tail between his legs, the silly man, Maddy then calmly and coldly (and she seems to be taking this tone with me a bit too often for my liking!) informed me that I was needed in Comm. Immediately. There was something there that required my input. Then she just turned her back on me and left. She turned her back on me! Oh I was crushed. So I have spent the last few days, Dear Diary, in Comm. being relegated to looking through the archive records and counting the number of anomalies that appear on each mission for the past 4 months! I have been reduced to grunt work, first K-mart, now this. Oh the humanity!

Thank goodness for my darling little toy-boy Birkoff. He is such a godsend, and is rather cute as well. Of course, he is just another Section operative captivated by my presence. But he does have a way with Oreo cookies that is truly quite amazing. And what that boy does with a Peppermint Patty is nobody's business! So it really hasn't been all that bad. But I think it may soon be time for a showdown with my dear, dear friend Madeline. Just a gentle reminder of just who it is she's dealing with. Everyone needs a reminder now and then. But first I may just let her stew for a bit longer before I tell her what is really going on between Paul and I. Or maybe I just won't tell her at all! Cause as you know, Dear Diary, Hell hath no fury like a pissed off living goddess/diva! Until tomorrow Dear Diary, adieu.

************

Day 15

Oh what a difference a few days has made, Dear Diary. When last we spoke, I was virtually inconsolable regarding the cruel and callous treatment that I have endured at the hands of my once-so-called-best-friend Maddy. Whilst we have yet to have our showdown that I feel is quite eminent, for last few days she has kept her viperous tongue and glacial blank stares at a discreet distance. To the regulatory 20 feet that the apprehended violence orders that I took out against her suggested, as I believe. But enough about this distressing subject, Dear Diary. A Living Goddess cannot surround herself with such negativity for too long, as you well know. It's bad for the posture, not to mention at just how much havoc is wrecked upon the inner shakra. Why, my Raki masseuse would be horrified!

So why, do you ask Dear Diary, have I turned my frown upside down and plastered a radiant, visually breathtaking smile upon my dial? Is it because you use less muscles to smile than you do to frown, thus reducing the risk of those horrid unsightly wrinkles that occur in those less fortunate beings who are not blessed with the exquisite skin-tone and facial features as I? Well yes, that may be partly correct Dear Diary. But the real reason is something so much simpler and so much more fun than that. What, you ask? What can it be? Well, my trusted friend, I will keep you in suspense no longer.

Today, Dear Diary, I started my Section One Beautification plan. Yes, Dear Diary, I have started on my path to turn this dreary place into a happy and harmonious area that will benefit the well being of all who enter its secret doors. Well, apart from those hideous slime buckets that will be tortured and cancelled. A necessary part of the whole secret-spy business you understand. But I digress as I usually do, Dear Diary. Sometimes I wonder just where my sneaky devious mind will go to next! Will I be swept back in my luscious memory to one of my many trysts with so many bodacious agents...Davenport, George, Michael, Birkoff, and Fanning...oops; he was one of the bad guys wasn't he? But then again, there is more than one way to gather Intel from an unwilling hostile, as you well know. And he was rather a hunk, even if he was an evil little man with real control issues... But I'm digressing again Dear Diary.

So anyway, Dear Diary, today I spent most of the morning in Munitions with my darling sweetie-pie Walter. Oh that man is one love machine, and so cute with his little ponytail and colourful bandana. Though he may be one of Sections oldest operatives, he has moves that would make many men/boys half his age envious. I believe that Madeline aka she-who-is-no-longer-my-friend once compared him to a 60-year-old teenager. And I must agree. You know just how randy those teenagers get!

Walter has always had such a soft spot for me; he calls me his little Sugar-plum-fairy-goddess, while I know that he only calls my twin sister Sugar. Not that I am competing with Nikita at all, you understand. How can you compete with someone who has just never attained the greatness that you have? It is just so unfair - and you know how I hate unfairness. And after all, she is only my fraternal twin. Can I help it if on the day that I was born the angels up in heaven decided to create a dream come true? Whilst she is just somewhat attractive, and doesn't scrub up bad at all. Well, she does have my genes after all, so it would be impossible for her to be bone-deep ugly.

Oops, I'm digressing again Dear Diary! So anyway, I spent most of the morning measuring and planning and designing and plotting and drawing. And it did help that I had a break every half hour and darling Davenport gave me a quick foot and neck rub. Oh that man's hands! They should definitely have a whole chapter devoted to them in the "Sexual Guide to Pleasing a Living Goddess". In fact, I think they do. Of course, Walter was most curious as to what I was doing, and could only stand there staring at me in child-like glee and wonder as I explained all that I had planned for munitions. I started by explaining that I think the whole colour scheme will be muted pinks, mauves and oranges, with possible a nice lime green shag-pile carpet to give the area a whole sense of ambiance and centre.

He was aghast at my brilliance, putting his hand to his mouth to hold in his screams of ecstasy. The man was totally beside himself and was hard put to contain his whimpers of admiration as I continued to explain that all cabinets would no longer have an automatic locking device, but would instead be replaced by white furry handles and they wouldn't be locked at all. Rather weapons will be noted on an honour system, as operatives need to feel that they can be trusted. If all they are confronted with are locks and bolts, well of course that's just gonna scream to them - Section doesn't trust you! And that doesn't make for a happy working environment. Not at all!

I also explained that I would be placing discreetly around the Munitions area various scented candles and also quite a few mini-fluoro tidy bins that I just happened to have got on sale whilst I was on my dreadful mission last week You know, Dear Diary, the one that I will no longer speak about. Oh I have so many more plans for Munitions, Dear Diary, but I refused to divulge any more secrets to Walter at this stage. I want it to be a surprise. And by the tearful look of gratitude that I saw on his face today, it seems that my project doesn't come a moment too soon.

But now I must retire, Dear Diary. All this planning has tired me immensely, and I must get my beauty sleep to start afresh tomorrow. Besides, I am also expecting Birkoff and Davenport for a few last minutes debrief details tonight; I feel the need for some massage and some candy. Until tomorrow Dear Diary, adieu.

************

Day 17

Oh Dear Diary, what an exciting day that I have had. Today I went on a mission, and before you gasp in horror, let me just assure you it was nothing like my previously ghastly one. No, Dear Diary, this one was fun. And I actually got to wear my special designer lavender-scented lilac mission suit with the contrasting hot-pink utility. And a pair of 6-inch mid-calf CFM homey-ped boots. I must say that I was quite the lovely vision too! Whilst I am fully aware of the aesthetically pleasing slimming effects that the basic black attire has, I feel personally that for deep undercover covert missions it is extremely drab and boring. So before I left the comfortable confines of my mansion-on-high that I shared with George, I had Oversight's wardrobe mistress May-Ling whip me up a few body suits. I have the lilac, one in sky blue with a contrasting lemon utility. This one is jasmine scented. And another in silver lamee with a matching gold utility for those missions that require just that little touch of class. Musk scented of course - it drives the enemies wild!

But that nasty Madeline tried to ruin my mission before it had even got started. As you know, we have been throwing daggerous looks at each other as our paths cross in Section - I rather think that both of us are enjoying this little pseudo-feud that we are engaged in. After all, we are truly heart-felt bosom-buddy confidantes that will never truly hate each other. A showdown is fast approaching I feel, and boy! Won't Maddy feel rather foolish then, when I emerge once again the victor? Living goddesses always emerge as winners. Rule 7 subparagraph of the manual. But I am digressing again Dear Diary. Perhaps I should install a digress alarm to keep me on track. But I do so love adding a few titbits as I go along, as I know you just adore recording them!

But back to Madeline. I was en-route to the access tunnels, aware that all operatives were stopping and staring at me in god-like wonderment as I passed, looking absolutely fabulous in my mission gear. The poor dears were unable to help themselves of course. Mere mortals never are, when confronted with my radiant visage. Just as I was about to enter the tunnel, Madeline standing directly in front of me blocking my path stopped me cold in my tracks. Even she was hard pressed to contain the admiration in her eyes, as she looked me up and down. And then coldly and quietly informed me that I was not appropriately attired and would immediately go and change into the same gear as the other operatives were wearing and return post haste.

This was too much, Dear Diary! Well, I tell you that I saw red and was so angry that I did something that I swore I would refrain from doing. I pulled out the big guns. Yes, Dear Diary, something more horrid and diabolical than 'Pink Bunny Slippers'. She had forced me to use something worse than that. Oh I was mortified that I was reduced to this, but I had no choice. I stood my ground, Dear Diary, and looked her straight in the eye, which is no mean feet cause she is at least 5 inches taller than me, and uttered one word. One word that I knew would ensure my victory. I said "ABBA". Well, as you can imagine, she went pale once again, Dear Diary, and staggered back clutching her throat. She looked at me with abject terror in her eyes and stammered "You...you...you wouldn't!" I coldly stood my ground and replied that I would. Her eyes filled with tears and with a chocking sound she left the area, obviously well before she disgraced herself in front of the fellow operatives. I tell you, Dear Diary, it was with a heavy heart that I continued on with my mission. I was devastated that I had hurt my darling friend in such a way, but she left me with no choice. As cut-up as I was though, Dear Diary, I was determined to push all negative thoughts aside and enjoy my mission. Which I did. Immensely!

Oh, but I must leave it here, Dear Diary. Someone is wailing and banging on my door. I get the feeling that I will be terribly detained and will be unable to finish enthralling you with my mission exploits. Rest assured, Dear Diary I shall return. Until then, Dear Diary, adieu.

************

Day 18

Oh Dear Diary, I am utterly exhausted! What, with my wonderful mission of yesterday and the long hard night I have put in, I am so tired that after Davenport has completed my all-over body massage I feel that I will have to retire. But then again, Davenport does have such marvellous hands...and he does rub them so well over my voluptuous body.... just another excuse to touch me I feel. But you do so know how I love being touched, Dear Diary, so maybe I will force myself to stay awake just that bit longer...

Here I go digressing again, so back to my explanations, Dear Diary. I know that you are virtually perched on the edge of your proverbial seat awaiting my revelations. As you should! The mission, Dear Diary, was one that was positively fun and dreamy! Remember that horrid mission-that-I-refuse-to-name-further that I was sent on where I was gathering Intel regarding some megalomaniac's brilliant plan to corner the ladies hosiery market? Well, it seems that analysis of my Intel uncovered that one of the crucial go-betweens middlemen was hiding out at the premiere of Stella McCartney's fall line. I was assigned to the First Team, who's mission objective was to target this individual, capture them and return them to Section for interrogation. Of course, being the living goddess that I am, I could well understand just why I was included in the mission. And of course, it should be fairly obvious to you also why I insisted on wearing my lavender-scented lilac mission suit. I blend in so well in the world of the super-model!

Oh Dear Diary, I can tell you it was a wondrous sight. The fashions, the stars, the models, the cameras all brought back such memories. I bumped into so many of my old friends. Naomi, Claudia, Madonna, Jean-Paul Gautier, Donnatella Versace, all of them clamouring for my attention; distraught that I was no longer readily available to them; envious as-per-usual of my radiant visage. It was so hard getting them to leave me alone, Dear Diary, but I was on a deep undercover mission after all. Just because I am a supremely desirable goddess is no excuse to blow a mission! And you know just how much my work means to me. Besides, the fate of the free world and the hosiery market was once again depending on me. I had no other choice.

And then I saw him, standing next to my old mate Vivienne Westwood. Trying to look inconspicuous whilst she gazed adoringly into his eyes. Fabio - the world's most beautiful man! The envy of male super-models all over the world for his rippling muscles, bulging pectorals and flowing golden mane. Not to mention the subject of many a romance novelist reader's lust filled fantasies for his gloriously vivid portrayal on the several covers of such mighty prose as 'My Love Awaits'; 'Thunder of Love'; 'Love comes A-Knocking' and 'Ravish Me, My Love!' His characters seem to come alive as he poses, and each one is just so different. Why, just the thought of 'Erik, the hunky love-starved Viking'; 'Ranulf, the hunky love-starved Dane'; 'James, the hunky love-starved British aristocrat' and 'Jessie, the hunky love-starved cowboy' makes my lil-ole heart go pitty-pat!

But I knew that he was the man that we were looking for. It was his eyes that gave him away. As I caught a glimpse of his smouldering sky-blue orbs set deep in his rugged smooth-shaven cheekbones, I could see that he was hiding something. And the telltale wisp of silken pantyhose that I could see emerging from his pants pocket was another dead give-away. Discreetly motioning to my team co-leader Michael that he was our target, I created a necessary diversion by loudly exclaiming that Cindy Crawford was dressed entirely in faux-leather and was sporting liposuction scars. My brilliant quick thinking enabled Michael to successfully secure the material, and we easily made our egress and returned to Section.

And the best part was that Paul was so impressed with my quick thinking and our successful mission that he allowed me to conduct the extraction of Intel from our target in the White Room! Oh, you can imagine how excited I was by that prospect, Dear Diary. It had been so long since I had last been in the White Room, and it holds such fond memories for me. And I didn't disappoint either, Dear Diary, even if it did take me 4 hours to transfer the Intel from Fabio. Well, Dear Diary, I certainly didn't want to bruise the merchandise in any way.

But I feel that I will have to continue this debrief at a later stage Dear Diary. Davenport's hands are moving so well and I.....ooooohhhhhhh yyyeeaahhhhh bbbaaaabbby........Uhhmmmmmm....adieu Dear Diary.....ooooohhhhhh..

************

Day 19

I have been given some downtime, Dear Diary. Well, that was certainly to be expected after the vigorous last few days that I have experienced. I think it also had something to do with the successful extraction of the vital Intel that I acquired from Fabio. Which reminds me, Dear Diary, I think he needs another session in the White Room. I have relayed this to Madeline, and I'm sure that she will confer with my judgement. I feel that there may still be more important Intel that may be able to be extracted. Come to think of it, I have noticed that Madeline seems to be spending an unusual amount of time near or in Fabio's cell. Oh but of course, she's probably using his knowledge of attaining a perfect body to come up with a new exercise regime for the Valentine operatives! Why else would she be there?

But back to my debrief, Dear Diary. I'm sure that you are just all a-quiver in anticipation, wondering just who it was the other night wailing and banging on my quarters door. Could it have been my dear friend Madeline, finally come to apologise for her ghastly treatment of me? Could it have been Nikita, once again asking me for my all-wise advice? Could it have been Michael, again unable to resist my irresistible charms? Could it have been Walter, eager to demonstrate another of his new 'gadgets'? Could it have been Birkoff, bringing me an updated supply of Oreo cookies and various chocolate assortments? Could it have been Paul, lonely and looking for some company and scintillating conversation? Could it have been George, come a-visiting with a copy of 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' music CD clutched in his hot little hand? Could it have been Davenport, unable to wait a moment longer to massage my delectable body? Who could it have been? Oh the possibilities, Dear Diary, are endless!

Well await no longer, my trusted confidante. It was that horribly annoying, whiny little weasel Gregory Hillinger. Yes, Dear Diary, that peacock-strutting over-bearing incessantly-talking over-inflated ego-loving Gregory Hillinger! And just what, can you imagine, did he want from me? Oh sure, like any mere mortal, he was finding it extremely difficult to resist my over-abundant Living-Goddess charms, but this was something that he would just have to learn to live with, Dear Diary. Like so many thousand of males before him. I cannot change the siren charms that are mine, Dear Diary, no matter how much the world may wish it so. And nor would I want to, as you are well aware. I quite like being the delectable little morsel that I am. Who else, you may ask, could cope as well as I with all the trappings and burdens that come with being the Living Goddess that I am. Could Nikita cope as well? I think not, Dear Diary. The poor dear is finding it increasingly difficult in my honest opinion just coping with her own life, without adding my lot to hers. No, Dear Diary, as I have heard so many times by my loving and loyal friends, this is who we are.

But back to my little annoyance, Dear Diary. As I opened my splendidly magnificent oak-plated silk-lined fur-trimmed door, there he was. Wailing and sobbing, Dear Diary, on his hands and knees; his face rose beseechingly upwards to gaze at my radiant visage; his hands assuming the begging position as he pleaded to be allowed to cross my threshold. I must say, Dear Diary, that I am still quite the big ole softie underneath my hardened glorious exterior. Seeing the poor little man/boy prostrate with grief upon my doorstep did something to me inside, and I found myself stepping back slightly to allow him to enter. And his butt did look awfully good, wobbling as it did as he made his way into my quarters still on his hands and knees.

He then started babbling about how he was so much better at things than Seymour; he was just as proficient - if not better with Oreo cookies than Birkoff and that he and only he alone knew where the "good" chocolate was stashed! He then continued on, begging to be allowed to prove his manliness to me. He was the 'bestest, most superbest, most coolest dude' that Section had ever, or was ever, likely to see. So much better than Seymour Birkoff, cause he knew just which buttons to press to get my modem up and running; which plug would best suit my hard drive; and which system was better to defrag me!

Well, I was quite overcome with all this pleading and babbling with computer euphemisms, Dear Diary, but he did have a point with one certain aspect of this whole visit. He was actually right here and right now. And I did so feel that I had a need for a good anti-virus scan. Thankfully, he is rather cute when he keeps his mouth shut. His way around a live update is rather unique as well. I don't think that I have experienced it in quite that manner before. And you know just how many unique and varied experiences that I have, well experienced in my lifetime Dear Diary. Besides, I had a good 2 hours to kill before I was expecting Davenport, so the time was not wasted entirely.

But as liberal as I am Dear Diary, I did draw the line at his suggestion that in order for me to attain maximum exposure I should reboot my entire system. There are some things that even a Living Goddess will not do, no matter how much begging and pleading and whining and snivelling and grovelling and general arse kissing is done! And on that note Dear Diary, I will drag my poor weary succulent being to bed. Until tomorrow Dear Diary, adieu...

************

Day 20

Oh my aching head! I lay here positively prostrate, Dear Diary, with a headache to end all headaches. I feel that never before in creation has a living goddess endured a hangover of quite the proportions that I am experiencing. It seems that no amount of rose-petal compresses and essence of peppermint soothing balms will ease my suffering. Although I must admit that the tender ministrations of my dear Davenport has helped considerably. He has such wonderful hands, second only to one or two others that I have met in my lifetime. But I digress once again, Dear Diary, as I am want to do. And just how, may you ask, did I arrive at this pitiful stage in my existence? Well, let me explain.

Today, Dear Diary, I spent time with my dearly beloved sister Nikita. Although, I have a feeling that there was some underlying ulterior motive for the time that we spent together. Nothing was really said outright to make me so suspicious, it was just my keen sense of perception; my uncanny intuition and my highly skilled powers of observation. Oh, and the pesky little annoying habit that Nikita seems to have picked up of stretching and then trying to inconspicuously place bugging devices around my quarters and every now and then of placing her hand to her ear, lowering her head and voice and saying to no one in particular "tag unsuccessful". That, and the large camera attached to her hideous headwear. The girl really needs some lessons in fashion sense, it seems she has learnt nothing from me at all! How is it possible that we came from the same womb and share the same genes?

Anyway, Dear Diary, after I gave her some quick lessons in the art of skilfully placing bugging devices in inconspicuous places, we got down to having a nice visit. Besides, I didn't have the heart to tell her that I have the latest anti-bugging technology installed in whatever quarters I am using at all times. It simply wouldn't do to have the whole world privy to the secrets that I use to maintain my stunning visage. It isn't easy being the one that all of mankind constantly desires, let me tell you! And oh, how my heart gladdened at the sight of my dear, sweet little sister sitting before me. I had not, until that very moment, realised just how much it was that I had missed her. Go figure? But it would seem that we have, in fact, spent just far too much time apart, as we had exhausted our repertoire of questions regarding each other's lives and a vast abyss of nothingness was yawning before us. And then, my sweet sister brought out something that was guaranteed to get the party started.

Tequila! Yes, Dear Diary, Nikita had invited our old friend Tequila to our little tête-à-tête. And not just one bottle of me ole mate Jose Curveo, but three! Oh yes, Dear Diary, Nikita knew me so well after all. I hadn't been the all-Australian-Tequila-Slammin-Champion of the world for a record 14 times for nothing. And I tell you, Dear Diary, that we both lip-sipped-suck for all we were worth. Oh it brought back such fond memories; the Tequila dance; the eating of the worm; the sensuous feeling of lime juice oozing down my throat; the turning of our whole bodies into one big salt-encrusted slammer. Ah, Dear Diary, those were the days. And just like those days of old, Nikita collapsing on the floor after consuming just the one bottle; crawling and mewling like a ruptured chicken; clutching a feathered silk pillow as she pitifully wailed at how life was so unfair to grant her twin Debita, me, all the glory of creation while she was left to live in my shadow. But then she started babbling about Michael and Madeline and Paul, about how she had let them down once again.

Oh how easy it was to gather more information for my all ready overflowing file of knowledge, sitting there consuming the rest of the tequila and listening to my dear sweet sister reveal all the terrible plans that my "so-called" friends were plotting against me. It was just so amusing to hear that the whole of Section One was trying to think of some way to get rid of me and return me to Oversight. But unbeknownst to them, I was already aware of their nefarious scheming, and I knew that they knew that I knew what their plans were. And I was so proud that my dear sweet sister was betraying me. All my years of backstabbing, devious, underhanded scheming training was finally paying off. It was all I could do to contain my glee and call house-keeping to remove Nikita to her own quarters.

So now I am nursing the mother of all hangovers, Dear Diary, and trying not to allow so much as a smirk at what I have learned to pass my lips. It hurts today even to smile. So I will just lay back here and allow Davenport to continue his ministrations, while I mentally prepare for my ultimate payback and revenge. It was almost time to reveal just whom it is that Section One is dealing with. But first I think that maybe Birkoff and Walter need to join Davenport in his ministrations...I do, after all, have a huge hangover! Until later, Dear Diary, adieu....

************

Day 30

Oh Dear Diary, what a busy, busy time I have had these past few days. Why, it has been more than a week since I have updated and enthralled you with my progress! And that is just sick and wrong. So much has happened since my last entry that I am at a loss as to just where to begin. But I suppose I will begin at the very beginning, that's a very good place to start....

It all started the morning after I awoke from my dreadful tequila-inflicted hangover that was brought on by my sweet sister and her nefarious ways. Davenport, Walter and Birkoff had just barely finished their ministrations to my prostrate voluptuous body, when Madeline rudely flung my door ajar. The nerve of that woman! She proceeded to stand in my doorway; arms crossed and glare venomously at my three angels of massage heaven. Poor naïve little Birky gave a pathetic squeak and ran from my room without even stopping to pick up his glasses. Walter, on the other hand, gave her a defiant glance and casually finished tying his bandana, then leaned down to kiss my brow briefly before he made his dignified exit.

Davenport - my ever-faithful temporary paramour - helped me up daintily from my prostrate position; kissed my hand delicately and then left my room. I was mesmerised by his swaying butt as he exited, and I happened to glance up and notice that Madeline was staring at his arse as well! The nerve! First she barges in, and then she ogles! I had had enough, Dear Diary. It was time for a final showdown with this woman; time that she learnt just whom she was dealing with and the consequences of her actions with her appalling treatment of me. Time to bring out the big guns! So I pulled myself up to my full height and stood there in all my stunningly glorious attire - champagne pink silk nightdress with matching peignoir, glaring daggers at her as she slowly made her way towards me; all the while glaring daggers back at me.

So you can imagine my surprise, Dear Diary, when Maddy stopped not two feet away from me and flung her arms wide, squealing with delight as she threw her arms around me and hugged me close! It was hard to make any sense out of her excited babbling as she first thanked me profusely, hugged me close, and then apologised for ever doubting me and treating me so shabbily. Of course the penny dropped, Dear Diary, and comprehension sunk in. Paul had finally revealed all to her. The true reason as to why we had been working so closely with each other since I had arrived. And Madeline was greatly relieved. She apologised most contritely, as was to be expected, and explained that her behaviour had been motivated by petty jealousy and fear. Fear that Paul no longer found her so desirable with a living goddess ensconced in Section One. Which is quite understandable, Dear Diary. How often have I been met with just this same reaction? It is my curse, and one I bear continuously.

You see, Dear Diary, when I first returned to Section One I was met with a seriously distraught Paul. He feared that the spark had expired from his relationship with Maddy and wanted my help in getting it back. Of course I was more than willing to help. It seemed that late night candle-lit dinners in the Tower, secret rendezvous in the Jacuzzi and passionate grope sessions in the Perch wouldn't cut it this time. So I revealed a secret desire of Madeline's to Paul, one that she told me years ago in the strictest confidence; but one that I knew I must now reveal to the man she loved to save their relationship. Madeline had always wanted to go to Disneyland and ride the teacups! It was something that had been denied her as a young girl - what with the death of her sister and all that kafuffle. And it was an experience that she felt was hindering her evolvement into showing the rest of the world the warm and loving individual that I know her to be.

So Paul and I had been arranging a little secret field trip for the two of them, an undercover mission into the 'house of mouse'. And it had worked. There was a sparkle in Maddy's eyes that I hadn't seen there since, well, the last time she and Paul managed to outsmart my lil pookie George. Which really isn't that hard to do.

So, Dear Diary, as Maddy and Paul were leaving the next morning, she was there to inform me that I was to be in charge of Section One in their absence. I was to have command. Well, Dear Diary, that was to be expected. I am a level 7-and-a-half operative after all. Who else would they leave in charge? But I must leave it there Dear Diary, my dinner has just arrived. I will return anon Dear Diary and regale you with details of my command of Section One in my darling friends' absence. So many missions - so many successes! Until then Dear Diary adieu...

************

Day 31

Oh Dear Diary, I'm back! And absolutely exhausted as well. Maddy and Paul return from their little sojourn tomorrow and won't they be amazed and agog at all the successful missions that I have had completed in their absence. I know that Oversight has said that they want to talk to them the moment they return - probably to organise a commendation for my outstanding work. And I will act suitably surprised by the honour as per usual. I have so many awards now that I have had to build another trophy room in my humble little abode-on-high that I occupy at Oversight. George was most upset to lose his dressing room, but I told him that he will just have to find another place to store his makeup and wardrobe - I needed the space.

But I digress, Dear Diary, as I am sure that you are waiting with baited breath to hear details of my missions, and the slight and subtle changes that I have instigated during my leadership. Well, Dear Diary, it all started the day that I was handed command from Paul at Van access as he and Madeline started their covert 'mission'. I was filled with pride and satisfaction as I noticed the look of joy on the faces of my two friends as they departed - oh those two crazy kids so need to be together! As soon as they had left, I made my first slight little change. I told Seymour that he was in charge for a few more hours whilst I returned to my boudoir. A living goddess requires her beauty sleep after all, Dear Diary, and how was I expected to look my best at 0900 hours? Seymour was advised to inform all operatives that a meeting would be called at 1300 hours and all operatives were to attend. The New Regime had begun.

Once I was properly refreshed, Dear Diary, at the eminently more suitably civilised hour of 1300, I returned to the Perch for my meeting with Section One's operatives. Incidentally, Dear Diary, you will notice that I have reverted to the military domicile for time instead of the standard. I think the military version just sounds that tad bit more, well military, and spy-like. And fits in well as head of the most covert organization in the history of the planet. And I do so get a buzz outta these official sounding phrases. But here I am digressing again, Dear Diary, and I know that you are just all agog with anticipation about the meeting.

Anyway, Dear Diary, as I stood in the Perch looking down at the sea of faces staring up at me in wonderment and awe, it did my old Aussie heart proud to know that I was in charge. And of course I had attired myself in a glorious ensemble that I'd had specially made just in case the opportunity of my taking over Section ever arose. One must always be prepared for any such event, just consult Rule 132; Subparagraph 2 of the 'Living Goddess Rule to Good Manners' and you will see that I am correct. So I stood there, resplendent in my Armani silver lame two-piece power suit with the matching faux-fur leopard print trim; accessorised with a wide black faux-leather belt and knee-high red crocodile skin CFM boots with 7 inch heels and topped off with a pair of iridescent blue-rimmed spectacles (I always felt that spectacles makes one look just that slightly more intelligent) and basked in the appreciative stares of all before me.

The first mandatory rule that I instigated was that no serious mission would be prepped before 1100 hours each day, and that all operatives required a minimum of 8 hours sleep and a healthy breakfast before they would be allowed to participate in any team going out. Operatives need their sleep and food, it just wouldn't do for a cranky team member to be let loose on an unsuspecting public. Why, I know how I get without my morning French vanilla latte, and it will not be tolerated! Oh, and that I would be personally overseeing all applications for increased status levels - starting with all male operatives, a very "different" test would have to be preformed and mastered before anybody moves up. I then singled out certain operatives for an extremely special and important mission that I had prepared; Nikita, Michael, Davenport, Walter and Birkoff. Dismissing all the rest, I then informed this team to meet me at the briefing table in 15 minutes.

But now Dear Diary, I must leave it there as I am sorely in need of some liquid sustenance. Besides, it wouldn't do to reveal too much in one day - it just isn't done. So until tomorrow, Dear Diary, adieu...

************

Day 31 - Postscript.

Oh Dear Diary, I just couldn't leave you hanging there. I am not an unnecessarily cruel Diva, just a discerning one as you know only too well. And now that I have had my liquid sustenance, I feel more than ready to continue. Davenport just makes the absolute best Mango Margaritas this side of the hemisphere! The things that man can do with his hands in any scenario are truly inspiring. But I digress, Dear Diary. Although by now you should be used to it I'm afraid.

Well any way, Dear Diary, back to details of my first important mission that I had carefully and meticulously planned in my spare time. It was something that truly had the makings of being the most hideous worldwide calamity since the time that horrible Gregor Kessler had planned to contaminate the water. An evilly diabolical plan that one was, Dear Diary. Why, every living goddess is aware of the healing properties of a soothing fresh-water colonic when the fluoride additive in drinking water is combined with Epsom salts! Rule 15 subparagraph 2 of the manual.

So my mission was to be the major saving grace of us all. The targets had been allowed to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting public for far to long and needed to be, if not eliminated, then at the very least severely disciplined in the White Room. Our hostiles really had no chance at all, because for this profile I was putting my big guns in play. For their crimes against fashion and all sense of decency, the flash missions objective was to retrieve the following targets and return them to containment for reprogramming - Lara Flynn Boyle and Sharon Stone. I mean, come on, did you see what these women wore to the Golden Globes? Oh sure, so these two were semi-big Hollywood stars, but just what the hell were they thinking? If they were allowed to continue displaying their horrid sense of fashion to the innocents of the world, who knows where it would all end up. Flares and corduroy may very well just become popular again. Oh the humanity!

I had also, Dear Diary, run numerous Sims with my chosen team members and the success rate was an outstanding 97.586%. A number too high to ignore. Michael would of course be in tactical; Davenport sent for muscle; Birkoff sent as bait for Sharon Stone - she likes them young and Walter sent as bait for Lara Flynn Boyle - she likes them old. Nikita was to be used as the decoy for the capture of both targets. Only theirs rivalled her appalling sense of fashion, despite my numerous attempts to educate her. And as a late addition, I had also added Bjork as a potential target for that 'swan outfit' tragedy at the Oscars a few years ago.

I must say, Dear Diary, that I was almost unbearably excited, from the time the team left until they returned successfully a scant 12 hours later. And our 'guests' spent a pleasant 3 days in containment being gelmanized and are now graduates in our Casper project. The world is no longer under threat from outfits containing khaki and Lycra. Yes, Dear Diary, I know. All mankind owes me a debt of gratitude, but I will accept no thanks for my humble work. Somebody had to stop these women - I was just doing my job as the Omnipotent ruler of the most covert organization on the planet. As it's been said so many times before - it's a dirty job but somebody had to do it.

I must go now, Dear Diary. There are still a few little things that I need to tidy up before my darling friends return tomorrow, and Christopher has just arrived with my special double-choc fudge soufflé desert for three. I am expecting company at any moment to help me consume this culinary delight. Later, Dear Diary, adieu....

************

Day 32

Well, Dear Diary, I am on my way home. My tenure as head of Section One has come to an end, and not a moment too soon if you want my honest opinion! Why, the whole time I was leader, I had almost absolutely no time to myself at all. No time for my daily facials and cleansing rituals so vital to the endless upkeep of a living goddess. No time for those endless pampering and lovemaking sessions that I so desperately need for my relaxation and well-being. My nails are appalling - I have had the same shade of cherry red diva delight nail polish on for two days in a row! And that just simply isn't done, as you well know, Dear Diary.

My darling friends Maddy and Paul returned to Section earlier this morning, Dear Diary. And I must say that it seems that their covert mission to the House of Mouse has done them nothing but good. Maddy is looking extremely tanned and relaxed and Paul has a permanent satisfied grin from ear to ear. And of course, they just couldn't wait to see me and hear my debrief, so they came a-knocking on my parlour door at the ungodly hour of 0900. Why the nerve of them both, Dear Diary, and if I wasn't mollified by the sight of their arms heavily laden with presents just for me I would have given them both a very stern talking to. Apart from the various miscellaneous items of fine taste and wealth - one being a solid gold and crystal replica of Cinderella's castle which looks suspiciously like my château in the mountainous hills of Switzerland - I now have in my possession something that I will treasure forever. How thoughtful of my dear, dear trusted friend and confidante Maddy to buy me from her very own funds my own exclusive and rare Mouseketeer ears with my name embroidered on the back in solid gold thread! Why, how rare and unique. This little beauty is going to occupy prime position in my trophy cabinet back at Oversight, I can tell you.

I won't bore you with details, Dear Diary, of my final debrief of my successful leadership, but suffice to say that both Maddy and Paul were ecstatic at the reports that I conveyed - particularly at the success of my fashion-police mission. Oh, and they were most grateful that I had also managed to arrange a cease-fire in Lebanon; total peace in Ireland; save the world economy and the stock market in the USA; break the drought in Australia and solve the hunger crisis in India. All in a days work for a discerning Diva after all. Just trivial little matters that hardly worked up a sweat.

And as I made my way to van access, it also did my heart good to see my entire fellow comrades-in-arms there for my send off. Magnificent Michael - looking so heart broken at my departure and softly nose-whistling that classic that holds so many memories for us both " Nobody does it Better." Sigh Beautiful Birkoff - standing there with those big owlish puppy-dog eyes imploring me to stay, and yet handing me a special jar of chocolate chip Oreo cookies for my journey. Wonderful Walter - giving me one of those lovely irresistible CFM love-god smiles as he handed me his prized jewelled bandana to remember him. As if! Naughty Nikita - my sweet darling twin sister, who hugged me hard and then, tried (unsuccessfully) to discreetly slip another tracking device into my handbag. I feel that all my efforts and training in stealth have once again failed to hit the mark with her. Will she never learn? SIGH! Magnificent Michael, that gorgeous-hunk-of-spy man, gazing forlornly at my glorious visage with those perfect green eyes of his as he discreetly whispered sweet nothings in my ear in his native Gaelic. And Darling Davenport, who was to accompany me on my journey homeward. A Divine Living Goddess never knows when she will require the services of a master masseuse. Hands-on massages are very important after all!

Of course, Dear Diary, I had already said my goodbyes to Maddy and Paul in the Perch, so they weren't there. Besides, I had arranged a special surprise for their homecoming for them in the Tower and they had rushed off in excitement to see what I had planned. Oh those two hopelessly romantic kids! Won't they be surprised at the tequila-and-chocolate-dipped-strawberries spa bath that I had left them. SIGH

So here I am, Dear Diary, sitting here all alone sipping champagne in my plush 12-seater all-leather custom-built limousine en-route to my comfy abode-on-high that I share with George. Oh how I have missed my lil pookie! I have already phoned and told him to crank up that volume on the stereo and play my "Rocky Horror Picture Show" album. It's gonna be a hot one tonight, Dear Diary, with delights aplenty. But first, I think I may make a little detour to Oversight via the Centre. I feel it's time that I paid Daddy aka Mr Jones a visit. Until anon, Dear Diary, adieu....

Send comments to Debbie Biv, by clicking HERE!