Sunday 17th February 1808

Dear Diary,
I am drained! I doubt I shall be myself for some time to come.
Mr Gustav Wynde arrived far too early and was brandishing some strange implement which turned out to be an ice axe. I immediately decided the Knob was not lofty enough for this fellow. He did not seem in the least bit dismayed to discover that even though he had come to see my sister he was to spend much of the day with me. Jane's limp was far too obvious a fake, as it kept changing legs but Mr Wynde was blind to it and was just keen to get 'high'.
We rode to the higher peaks beyond Netherwater and he set off at an alacritous pace. He just had to lead the way even though he did not know it. I noticed almost immediately the creaking of his boots at each step and just as it was becoming exceedingly irritating he began to talk. Jane had recounted from his letter the tale of his new residence but I had to relive it again in exacting detail. Then I suffered the tale of his drains which must have lasted for all of two hours. By this point we had reached the summit and I was contemplating throwing myself off the precipice before us but we paused to admire the view. The sky was clear and azure as far as the eye could see and there was a carpet of mist in the valleys above which the surrounding peaks peeped. We sat for lunch and enjoyed Mrs Crutchlow's fresh muffins with sausage and relish and Mr Wynde told me about rats and the variety thereof. I wanted to take his useless axe and make good use of it but I have heard tales of what can happen to a man in prison and though I believe I could endure much of it I doubt I could live without soap.
On our journey down I heard tales of the Alps, about a variety of breeds of dogs and how to frighten a mole! I tried to get some recompense by recounting the tale of my Mother's favourite chamber pot, the tale which had sedated Mr Scrote, but oh no! Mr Wynde found it fascinating and it turns out he knows far more about chamber pots than any normal person needs to know.
I stomped in to the Grange and glowered at Jane as I thrust my crop and hat at her. I heard Mr Wynde creaking in behind me as I mounted the stairs to my chamber. It is now almost midnight and he must still be here for I have not seen him depart. I shall remain here until he has gone. Come Oblivion, take me!

My Mother's favourite Chamber pot...For it is it!