0600 hours: Took up the recommendation of using 24 hour times, because hey…it looks official and important, if nothing else. And it's too early. Need my beauty sleep, I think.

1000 hours: Finally arrived in Translyvania. Stupid coaches. Does no one put suspension on these things? I should have apparated, sure, but that hardly looks good in a book: "Oh yeah, zap, and I was there." "I'm a hardy traveller, folks, I apparate everywhere." I want people to imagine me toiling through wind and snow, nearly falling off a precipice (ooh, good word, remember that one) half way up some mid-European mountain. Thinking about it, I should have just apparated and written all that anyway. But then again, the sun shone all the way, got a little sun bathing in on the way and even picked up some moisturiser in Bucharest. Everything has a purpose.

Off to find an inn or something. I wonder if it'll have a sauna and apple martinis? I don't know WHAT I'll do if they don't.

1030 hours: Found a room. And it's FILTHY. Ugh. Dust everywhere. These sheets look like they were cleaned last century. The shelf in the bathroom isn't nearly big enough. I've had to pile my hair products under the sink. UNDER THE SINK, of all places. And I think the sink might be leaking. Or something is. Just don't think about it. Just ignore it. Damn, I can't. It could completely ruin my Shimmer and Shine conditioner. And I bet these heathens have never heard of conditioner, either. No sauna either. How am I supposed to keep my complexion now? I only have my products now. And the door handle broke my nail. If these people weren't helping me, I'd sue.

1100 hours: Showered, and I still feel vile. This place is ruining my skin, I swear. Anyway, I have to go talk to some of the delightful locals about my book. (might get to sell them some too. I knew I should have gotten them printed in Romanian.) VAMPIRES! Why didn't I think of this earlier? How more exciting and mysterious can you get? I mean, in Dracula, who's the sexy hero that gets all the girls? Van Helsing, right? I think. Good enough for me. Gilderoy Lockhart, vampire slayer has a nice ring to it. Problem is, how do I find someone who's run into a vampire without meeting a vampire? I can't run the risk of being bitten, I mean, I couldn't deal with being that pale, not to mention, those neck wounds would just ruin my appearance. Not to mention, NO SUNLIGHT. I love the sunlight. Adore it. How else would I get this stunning tan? Oh yes, because I was born that way. Still, cannot, under any circumstances, run into a vampire. Knew I should have brought a Frenchman with me, they'd have garlic.

Off into the village.

Crucifix, check.

Bible, check.

Notepad, check.

Wand, check.

Mail order forms for books, check.

Autographing quill, check.

Romanian phrase book, check.

Winning smile, check.

Hair to die for, check.

And we're ready.

1325 hours: These people are SO superstious. Perfect. Had lunch (which has to have been the weakest soup and stalest bread EVER. I mean two day old bread…. Nothing like the food in London.) with the pastor. Never understood these religious folk, really. Although he didn't seem in too good a mood when I told him that all his church needed was a bit of glamour and he'd have more people coming every weekend. Called me blasphemous. But it's nothing an Obliviate can't fix, right? Told me some of the local legend. Ooooh…this is juicy. Stealing off with women in the night, making them into some kind of vampire whores. I knew vampires would be brilliant to write about. KNEW IT. Nice one, Gilderoy. He told me of a man who'd been seduced by one. Sweet. Then all I have to do is find who saved him, tinker with the memories, and I have a book. Best seller already, I can tell. Need a name though. Something…"with Vampires" Interview? Nah, been done, I think. Alliteration perhaps?

1700 hours:

Wow. That was possibly THE BEST meeting EVER! All pulled off by me, of course. Started off badly due to this damned phrase book. I only meant to say "I think you would do SO much better with yellow curtains in here. At least it would compliment that stain in the kitchen." Instead I ended up saying "I think your wife has a very pretty rack." NOT INTENDED. strike as if I'd be interested in that anyway /strike Nearly got me a punch, but good old Obliviate saved the day again. Well, I did. If it wasn't for my quick thinking. And then he told me the best story EVER! I rid him of the memory of course. All mine now. I think this bottle in my hand could be worth millions of galleons. Perhaps I'll buy a new house. A mansion. And they'll be photos in all the magazines. It's so juicy….succubuses and everything. Better than anything Rita could write. Apparently this guy killed them too. Or whatever you do with undead things. This is too perfect. I'm too perfect. Anyway, dinnertime. It better be good, and there better be martini on hand if it isn't. Pimms at least.

2000 hours

Bloody country. No good food and not an apple martini for miles. I ASKED FOR well done steak, not vile, 'blood-dripping-onto-the-plate' meat. Ugh. I'm not even sure what animal it was. Ugh. They've got watery BEER (I mean what kind of caveman drinks beer? Makes you fat. I wouldn't think of drinking that sewer water)

and anti-freeze vodka. Must be 80 proof that stuff. It's not classy, but it'll have to do. I'll take some of my autobiographies to the bar. They're BOUND to want some. And perhaps….Ventures with Vampires.

Huh..time? stuff that. Had women clamouring for those biographies. My hand's so tired from signin….stupid quill.. Gave them away, course…not like this lot can afford me. My head hurts…I HAVE IT! Voyages with Vampires. PERFECT! Gilderoy, you genis..genious..you know..

Back to beauty sleep. Not that I need it.