And even a few pages from his long lost diaries.
As translated by Simon Gale
As I hope these diaries left to prosperity vill prove beyond all reasonable doubt, none of the var vas ever my fault. It vas the other three, I svear. I am not naming names, I am merely pointing out the truth. I had nothing to do vith it, and Adolf Hitler does not lie! You can ask my mum.
31st August 1939
The new edition of my Magnum Opus, now available in all good bookshops and given avay free in certain beer cellars, especially if you’re vearing leather shorts, is proving to be very popular: hurray for me! My publisher has informed me that it is currently outselling Dan Brown, although, in his opinion, if I could add a chapter solely concerned with bondage sex then sales would no doubt improve ten-fold. I’ll have to consult Goering as vhips and leather and all that sort of stuff seem to be clearly vithin his area of expertise.
A little later, sometime after cucumber sandwiches…
I have given a copy to the British Prime Minister who seemed very excited by one page in particular, vaving it about and around his head as soon as he landed back in the UK. How I love Britain, and all vings British.
3rd September 1939
Britain declared var on me this afternoon. Vhat’s that all about? Vhat did I do? Have ve stolen their towels again? So much for their legendary sense of humour, eh! I really hate Britain and all vings British. Especially Charlie Bloody Chaplin! The places I vould love to stick his frigging cane!
Oh look out, here comes little old Peg Leg, screaming and shouting and posturing again, ranting on and on about this and that. He really does bring the place down. Hess and Speer are right though, if you look at him from a certain angle and in just the right light, he really does look like a little gnome.
Must go now as Eva is calling me down for tea. My little vixen!
4th September 1939
It has been brought to my attention that France also declared var on me yesterday. Yesterday vas not a good day. (NOTE TO SELF, UNDERLINE THAT SENTENCE AT LEAST 3 TIMES LATER TO HIGHLIGHT THE MAGNITUDE!) They have taken my complete ignorance in the matter somevhat personally apparently, although, to be fair, It’s not really my fault I didn’t notice. I was kinda busy.
10th May 1940
Vas bored today, tired of just kicking around the old homestead, so decided, on some fink of a vim, to invade France. Vell, ve haven’t done it for ages now.
27th May 1940
Vatched a lovely little flotilla just off the coast of some beach called Dunkirk yesterday. Very pretty, although quite vindy and Eva lost her favourite hat. Of course this vas all my fault for bringing her here to this, and I quote: “God-forsaken little backwater, full of French people. Vy can’t ve go to London this year?”. Vhat does she fink I am trying to arrange, even as ve speak?
I also tried to point out, as patiently as I could, for I am nuffink if not patient, that the reason this place is full of French people is because ve vere in France, but she vasn’t having any of it. It’s not as though they smell that badly, or that much really, once you get used to them, and, on the upside, all this cheese is lovely, although the snails von’t keep still vhile I try my damnedest to prod them, and the little sods vill insist on escaping. Look! There goes one now. I bet they are English! They are really beginning to test my patients (sic).
28th May 1940
If Churchill flicks me off once more with that bloody v-sign I vill not be held accountable for my actions! Didn’t they teach him any manners at school, or the closest he could get vithout putting out his cigar and taking his hat off ? Mind you, on the plus side, he looks just like my little baby Godson.
25th October 1940
Have delayed the invasion of Britain until next weekend. For now though, I am going Line Dancing!
1st November 1940
Have decided I don’t want Britain after all. Far too troublesome. Did you realise that they have a vord for “fluffy” and that their so-called operas last barely an afternoon?
Peg Leg, or The Gerbil, as everyone else has taken to calling him lately, is bloody furious as he has ordered all the merchandise, including the special tour t-shirts to come in all colours, shapes and sizes, but it can’t be helped.
Maybe next year? I console him by reading his latest speech in my loudest voice and with my Mr Angry face.
20th April 1941
“Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me…” It’s not like anyone remembered. Not one bloody card! You know vho I blame? Jewry!
Oh, and Charlie bloody Chaplin of course, that goes vithout saying.
12th May 1941
Vhere the hell is Rudolf these days? I have looked and looked but can’t find him anyvhere. This is the best game of hide and seek, ever!
22nd June 1941
Vhere to go on holiday this year?
Eva wants to go to either the Caribbean or Scarborough but I have heard that Russia is nice at this time of year. Moscow’s nightlife is apparently something to be experienced, and the cheap Vodka… But vhat to pack? Decisions, decisions. No one understands the pressures on your average run-of-the-mill brutal dictator. I blame Charlie Chaplin.
And the jews… They’re not half as funny as they used to be!
21st January 1942
Himmler and old vhat’s-his-face came to see me today with the answer to the “Jewish question”.
Somefink of a surprise to me, I must admit, as I vas not avare the Jews had asked me anything to begin vith.
6th March 1944
Vhere have all those little people gone? No Goering, not the Smurfs! The ones with the perfectly manicured moustaches and the funny little walk. No, Himmler, I don’t mean Charlie bloody Chaplin! (It is quite apparent to anyone reading these diaries, that Hitler really despises Charlie Chaplin). I mean those with the pretty little yellow stars sewn onto their suits and/or jackets?
Talking of vhich, I haven’t been able to get a jacket tailor-made to fit me for years now! This bloody var. Himmler is such a dungcuff!
6th June 1944
Churchill, you bastard!
That just vasn’t fair. I so thought that the invasion vas going to be somevhere near the port of Calais – ve all know how much the British love their duty-free! – but oh no, that Sweinhunt plays a dirty underhand and rotten trick by invading France in some place called ‘Normandy’. Bloody Normandy? Who’d ever vant to land there? It’s a shithole! Even the bloody French vant shot of it. They must do really nice fish and chips there! The bloody English, leading those nice American chaps ash tray, (Whoops, sorry.) Astray.
Eva tells me, when she is sober, vich isn’t too often these days to be fair, that I shouldn’t be so surprised, for does not everyone invade France at least once every 3 or 4 years?
29th April 1945
Have just married her indoors – that should keep her happy for a bit, or quiet, although she’ll probably vant kids next! Vhat’s vrong with a golden retriever?
Oh, that reminds me. I must go and clean my pistol as I am expecting guests over any day now. I am so excited, as it’s been ages since ve’ve been able to throw a decent party, and I do so like a party and a quick game of charades.
Apparently, someone called Ivan is on his way to see me and, judging by his shouting, swearing, raping and pillaging, he sounds a tad over-excitable.
“Eva. Eva!” Bloody hell woman, she’s fallen asleep again. Must have been one hell of a vedding night, eh? Vink-vink! My one ball is vorking just fine, thank you Mr Churchill! And that’s bloody slander by the vay!
“Eva! Vhere’s my best suit?”
A Little Later, just after tea but before Coronation Street…
There seems to be somefink stuck in the barrel of my favourite pistol… I can see something in the barrel, just down there but… bollocks, if I can reach it. Vill nuffink go right for me lately? I vonder, if I press the trigger…
Nope. That didn’t vork.
For some reason the entries stop right about here… And over there on the wall.