Dear Diary,If ever there were a day that promised the coming of spring, then today was it. On venturing out one could sense the joy and growth all around in the sun's warmth. I did not fully appreciate it until later in the day. This morning my mind was only upon the departure of the Countess. How strange that only a few days before I had bemoaned her visit and yet now I am sorry to see her go. Only you and I, however, know the true reason for my sorrow.The time came swift and there was no chance to be alone with Emmanuel. We all gathered on the steps to wave them off after a great deal of further French kissing. Just as the party were about to leave Mother gasped, remembering Mrs Crutchlow had packed a picnic for their journey. I said I would go fetch it and dashed in as I heard my mother crying out to them,"Wait!" I found the basket in the scullery and picked it up and headed back into the hallway. I was crossing to the front door when Emmanuel burst in. He hurried up to me and taking my arm pulled me into the Library. He took the basket from me, placed it quickly upon a table and turning took my face in both his hands and kissed me. How warm his lips. How soft his kiss. How perfect the moment. He pulled back and looked at me. "Au revoir" he whispered then flashed that smile, grabbed the basket and was gone. Dazed, I followed him out and stood with the rest of the family to wave. I watched until I could see them no more and turned to find I stood alone on the steps. I did not go in. Instead I walked. I had no thoughts as to where I was going. I simply walked. I do not recall my route as I think back now but found myself, after a time, by the old hawthorn tree that I used to climb as a boy. It was a beautiful day and so I traced my childhood steps and climbed to my perch at the top. It was here that I fully appreciated the beauty of the day. I am not certain what I was feeling in my heart but I believe it was a kind of joy. He had whispered "Au revoir", but I know I will never see him again. Would that I could end this day's entry upon that poignant note, but sadly no. Not having the agility or slenderness of my youth it transpired that, in my descent, I received a large thorn to the left buttock which broke off and remained partly embedded in my fundament. Thus, this evening I have had to impose upon Ned the task of retrieving the source of my obvious discomfort at dinner. I cannot lie and say that I have not considered the moment when Ned and my buttocks became acquainted. Sadly, I did not imagine it thus.
Dear Diary,I have been thwarted throughout the day in my endeavours to rendezvous with Emmanuel and thus have had to gaze upon him from afar. The congregation at Chapel had swelled this morning in the knowledge that a French Countess would be in attendance. Emmanuel was seated a few pews behind me and I could feel his gaze upon the back of my head. The Pastor was effusive in his sermon and appeared to deliver it solely to the Countess who beamed throughout. (I know not how she manages it.) Her warbling soprano voice soared above everyone else's during the hymns but it could have been that everyone else was pausing to listen. We were almost late for lunch due to the large number of people wishing to pay their respects after the service. I was just about to prise her hand from the Pastor's who had clung to it for far longer than necessary, when he finally released it and bowed low. As we finally left she turned to face the waving congregation and trilled; "Ah weesh 'appenis for you all!" She loved all the attention and it only served to widen her smile.Emmanuel was occupied in the afternoon, packing and preparing for their departure tomorrow. This evening Mrs Crutchlow, in honour of our guests, prepared a typical French meal. It was quite splendid. I enjoyed the fish soup but the chicken was covered with a French cheese sauce. I ate what I could scrape clear of it. The dessert was delicious. Later, Mrs Crutchlow stopped me in the hallway and asked "Well, Mr Austen, I wonder what you thought of the pancakes?""Crepes" I corrected, but before I could tell her what I thought she stormed off in a huff. Women! I just don't understand them.
Dear Diary,I eschewed breakfast and went straight to the stables where I knew Emmanuel was engaged in grooming. He did not notice me enter as he was stroking the flank of a particularly magnificent stallion but the beast did and turned to look at me. He finally followed its gaze and turned to face me. He was without a shirt and stood there in boots and breeches with his braces bridging his glistening shoulders. He flashed that smile... and I waved. I waved?! I do not know what possessed me. He was standing not twelve feet in front of me and like the nincompoop that I am, I waved! There followed a moments uncomfortable silence then I took a step forward and was just about to speak when Ned came in to say that Father was looking for me. I walked to the door and before I exited, glanced back. He was still smiling.Father and I thought that an excursion to the ruins of Nethernook Castle would entertain our guests, though the weather was not being kind. We took two carriages. I rode with my Mother, Fanny and the Countess and Father rode with Jane and two of the Countess' ladies in waiting. I was pleased to see that Emmanuel and two other male escorts rode behind us. Nethernook Castle is in a beautiful setting and would have been a majestic sight in its day. Thankfully, there are still many covered passageways and corridors to explore on a wet day though much of the interior is now open to the sky. The party dispersed to explore. I hung back and soon found myself alone. I resolved to seek out Emmanuel and set off back to where we had left the coaches but as I turned a corner I bumped straight into him coming the other way. We both gasped then laughed in recognition. Without hesitation, I grasped his arm and said "Come Emmanuel, let me show you the Fingering Hole." I led him down a dark and twisting staircase and into a small, damp chamber with little light. I explained that this was where the prisoners had been kept. In one wall there was a small hole where water trickled in from outside and I told him it was here that the prisoners quenched their thirst, thrusting their fingers in and out to get what little moisture they could. I stuck my finger in and he looked at me in bemusement and I realised he did not understand a word I was saying. I took his hand and carefully, extending a finger, pushed it into the hole, smiling and nodding all the while. He pulled it out and I released my grip. He stood facing me in that shadowy place and then smiled too and I swear the room glowed. He reached out and took my hand again and I gazed into his face and then noticed the largest spider I had ever seen crawling over his hair. As my gaze went up to it I heard a scream, like that of a frightened girl, and bedlam ensued. The room was suddenly filled with a horrendous flapping sound and all about us, tumbling and wheeling, were dark shapes. I heard the scream again and realised it was my own and now it was joined by Emmanuel's scream too. We clung to each other with one arm while flailing with the other at the creatures swooping around us. I gathered my senses and grasping him tightly led him to the exit and we tumbled up the stairs, all the while amidst the throng of wing-ed beasts. We burst out into the open and fell to the floor. We, briefly, lay there gasping on the wet ground before getting to our feet. It suddenly began to rain harder and the others emerged hurrying back to the coaches. No one had any inclination of what had just occurred. He squeezed my shoulder and hurried off to join the others and I followed behind.I remember little of the rest of the day. My head has but one abiding memory, that it plays over and over again; the moment that he took my hand.
Dear Diary,I confess I might be warming to our foreign occupiers. On a gentle stroll about the woods this afternoon the Countess regaled me with tales about "Gay Paree". I must concede it does sound most inviting and a place I could, very well, feel at home in. Furthermore, I know not whether it was the brightness of her smile that has blinded me to all around, since her arrival, but for the first time today I became aware of the handsome stature of a number of her male escorts. I was led to believe that the gentlemen of France exude a scent described as a mix of garlic and urine but I have to say, on standing downwind of a good few fellows today, I detect no such aroma, On the contrary, the bouquet was most enticing. One delightful fellow, by the name of Emmanuel, who wears his breeches very well, has glanced in my direction a number of times. His smile outshines the Countess'. I shall attempt to contrive an impromptu encounter.
Cher Journal Intime,Je souris toujours mais la Contesse est la reine des sourires. Assez!I have never seen a woman smile so much. It is not natural. She finds delight in all she surveys. I can only surmise that it is all some affectation or life in France is extremely dull. Much of the talk at breakfast was of the fate of Nicholas de Lacy Brown, an educated man, on his way up the ladder of life but whose lack of thought, before speaking, sent him skidding down a snake. The Countess beamed throughout the conversation and then, turning attention back to herself, asked;"Mon cher Wayne, wat ees eet you want most from life?" It was far too deep a question to ponder at such an early hour, and I found myself stuttering, with my fork midway to my mouth."Speaking for myself, all ah seek from life ees 'appenis!" she continued.As I looked around at all the other wavering forks how I wished I had been able to say that too.
Dear Diary,I fear I spoke too soon. I had but a few hours to enjoy my home alone with my family before we were invaded by France. Forgive me if I appear somewhat dramatic but it is the truth. This afternoon three large coaches drew up the drive bringing Countess Cornelia Du Plessis and her entourage. I was aware she was to visit but Mother had been coy as to the actual date of arrival and I was taken completely unawares. I have scarcely had to time to rest my facial muscles from forced smiling for Mrs Norris. I doubt I shall survive the next four days.The Countess swept in, declaring " Ah am so 'appee to be 'ere wiz you". It seemed the cheek kissing would never end and then she waved in gifts of French cheese! Heavens! These Continentals take the offensive early!
Dear Diary,Mrs Norris is gone, for now. She left this afternoon but not before a little drama. After lunch she was taking a turn around the garden with myself and my sister Jane, who was telling her about the new novel she was writing, . I was not particularly paying that much attention to the conversation but I believe she said it is called Enema. Suddenly, Mrs Norris noticed that the 'rodent' was no longer waddling behind us. She cried out "Winky! Winky darling! Come to Mama!" but nothing emerged from the shrubbery. I suspect even the slugs shrank back. I made some attempt to look concerned but the stupid creature is always getting lost and, sadly, always found. When an hour had passed and there was still no sign of the beast, despite a well manned search of the house and grounds, I began to think we might never suffer her Winky again. I encountered Ned as I returned from the orchard."Oh Mr Austen, Mrs Norris is in a fair terrible state, lying 'prostate' on the 'chaise longoo'. Your Father has had an idea though. He has released his Todger. He believes it will follow little Winky's scent."We walked back to the main entrance together and were just approaching the steps when there came an ear piercing shriek, and Mrs Norris charged out. She was pointing, wildly, in the direction of the drive. Ned and I turned to where she was indicating and there, padding up the drive was Todger with something small, hanging limply from his mouth. There was a dull thud and I turned to find Ned and Mrs Norris were no longer standing where they had been only a moment before. I felt a hand grasp my ankle and I looked down to find Ned buried beneath the unconscious woman. Fortunately, Father appeared at that moment and we wrested Ned from beneath the suffocating mass of Mrs Norris's breasts. Winky, was placed unharmed at Father's feet and much attention was paid to his Todger, which was patted and squeezed and, yes, even Mrs Norris placed a hand upon it in thanks for the safe return of her 'precious baby' before mounting the carriage to return home.I am glad we have the Grange to ourselves again.
Dear Diary,I find myself much recovered and yesterday ventured to the Chapel to endure the Parson's Easter Sermon then home to the Grange to a substantial meal prepared by Mrs Crutchlow. I noted Mrs Norris appears to have regained her appetite for goose after the unfortunate incident at Christmas. She tucked into the mound of breast meat, upon her plate, with relish, though I much prefer gravy upon mine. After the feast Fanny played the pianoforte to the accompaniment of snoring from Father and the replete Mrs Norris. Her poor pug quivered under the chaise longue and I know not whether it was the rasping of his mistress's breath or fear of Fanny's Tuppence. Such cold weather we have endured these past days and even a sprinkling of snow. How I long for the warmer days of spring and the rising of the sap!
Dear Diary,I am abed. I have such dreadful sniffles. Either I caught a chill riding into Cobbler's Bottom or Willy Tert gave me more than a bruised ego. I have remained confined to the West Wing but I have been well attended. Mrs Crutchlow and Titty have seen to it that I have not gone hungry and Fanny has been up to entertain with a tale of what occurred earlier when Mrs Norris's pug tried to lick Fanny's pussy. Ned has been most industrious and ensured I have had wood for much of my recuperation. Even Mrs Norris paid me a visit to show me her latest cross stitch and to probe me about events and acquaintances at Effin Hall. I am starting to feel myself again...if only I did not have so many interruptions!
Dear Diary,Spurred on to help the illiterate by yesterday's missive, I rode Python, through the rain, into Cobbler's Bottom and went straight to the home of Miss Grace Quirrel, who has set up a school, in her home, for a fortunate and needy few. I knocked upon her door and offered my services for a few hours. Owing to the dampness of the day I was immediately assaulted, nasally, by the aroma of damp children. Believe me, when I tell you, it is almost as bad as 'wet dog'! She asked me to assist a young fellow who was having trouble with his vowels, by the name of Willy Tert. He was also having problems with his nostrils too, which streamed constantly down his top lip until wiped away by his tongue. Just before midday, the class put away their slates and Miss Quirrel began a nature lesson, and spoke of the harbingers of spring; the flowers now in bloom and the increased bird activity in their nest building. It seemed a good opportunity so I politely raised my hand and asked;"Miss Quirrel, what is a fuckwit?" It was a perfectly innocent question but, apparently, it is not a bird. Miss Quirrel assisted me from the room by my ear and asked me to kindly keep away from her school in future. As I mounted Python I noticed Willy Tert standing at the window. He breathed hard upon the glass and wrote "fockwet" upon the pane and then pointed at me, smiling. As I approached the Grange I came upon the Parson hurrying towards me looking most distressed. I slowed to speak to him yet he kept on hurrying past, but I heard him gasp the word "Wolf!" I chuckled to myself for I knew he must have caught a glimpse of Father's Todger.
Dear Diary,Today I received a notelet which read 'your a fuckwit'. Shock! Horror! How dreadful is that? Is it not plain that it should be 'you're' as in 'you are' and not 'your' meaning possession? Mrs Norris noted my shock upon receiving it and her curiosity is best assuaged in these instances. I showed her the note and she, all but, fainted and needed the attention of Mrs Crutchlow and her smelling salts. It was, surely, shock due to the lack of decent grammar. How I feel for the uneducated. The notelet was sadly anonymous and so I am unable to offer it's author correction. I wonder who has sent it. I know not what a fuckwit is. I have heard of a peewit, however, and know it to be a bird, similar in colour to a magpie though not as vindictive. I have a mind to ask Miss Dixon if she has ever stuffed a fuckwit.
Dear Diary,My efforts to avoid Mrs Norris happily succeeded until late this afternoon when she discovered me lurking in Ned's shed. I smiled, weakly as she peered in and then jumped as she snapped,"Wayne! Put down Ned's tool and follow me," and she lead me to the seat beneath the beech tree that Ned had erected. "Sit!" she commanded, as much as if she were addressing that dreadful rodent of hers. "Wayne, you ought to be married, a man of your years and breeding. Do you not find Miss Honey Pott to be agreeable and acceptable? Is she not a handsome young woman? I doubt you will find a finer, more accomplished and well read admirer anywhere? I simply cannot understand it! What is it you seek in a companion?"I wonder, now, what her reaction would have been if I had spoken what I really wanted to say at that moment..."Well, a moustache would be most pleasing for a start,"....... but I did not. Stupidly, I said that there was someone whom I admired but did not feel able to confess it at present. She regarded me closely and then sighed despairingly. I do not believe she was satisfied with my answer and I fear I have only served to enflame her curiosity. " Come," she sighed, " let us prepare for dinner, oh and I want to hear how you came to find this new hound of your Father's. What is it he has called it?""Todger." I replied.
Dear Diary,I cannot remember when I was so glad to return to Thrushcock Grange. The sky was blue with a hint of spring warmth as I stepped from the Effin Barouche. I could not help but smile with joy and relief...... and then Mrs Norris emerged from the main entrance, and my smile vanished. She carefully waddled down the steps and then hurried towards Fanny and I. She reached out and clasped us both, in turn, to her expansive bosom which, distinctly, smelt of pug. I looked back at the departing Barouche and briefly considered chasing after it and taking my chances with Evelyn back at Effin Hall. A single magpie chattered from a nearby tree top. It was laughing at me, I swear!
Dear Diary,An extremely dull Sunday morn was spent wedged between Malcolm and Evelyn Tent upon a most uncomfortable pew in St Hilda's in the Effin Vale. Malcolm grunted through the hymns, while Evelyn wailed them and it was torture to a trained ear like mine. Megan Bacon, waved merrily every time I looked around in her direction as did the other elderly ladies with whom she was sat. The third time the Rector said "Let us pway" I wanted to titter uncontrollably but I pressed my hymnal hard into my groin and stifled it. As we left the Rector shook our hands and said " It is a pity it is such a bwief visit to our Pawish. Do dwop in on us again." I stood on my own toe and bit my tongue as I smiled back.Megan Bacon introduced me to all her lady friends who were eager to hear my telling of the peacock incident. "How dweadful!" exclaimed the Rector, as I finished. I wanted to say "Eavesdwopper!" but resisted the temptation.Lunch was Jugged Effin Hare. There was a hair in my hare!Evelyn crept up on me, this afternoon, as I was having a tinkle in the Library. She sat next to me upon the stool and leaned in close and spoke of her true feelings for me. When I informed her that I was indeed honoured and flattered by her attentions but could not reciprocate her esteem, she slammed the lid down upon my fingers and swept from the room. Thank the Lord, we are to return home tomorrow. I have had more than my fill of this Effin place!
Dear Diary,I know not why I allow myself to end up in these situations. Last night I found it most difficult to dispose of the Effin cheese whilst under the, almost, continuous gaze of Evelyn Tent. The cubes I stuck to the underside of the table will not be discovered until I am long gone and the rest which I secreted in my breeches, I cast from the window of my bedroom in the midst of the night.This morning, after breakfast, Malcolm took me for a stroll in the Effin Forest, which at least afforded some escape and distraction. I found myself manipulated into spending much of the afternoon in the company of Evelyn and her chaperone, an elderly Miss Bacon. We wandered the gardens and Evelyn kept trying to increase the pace to lose the old woman that tottered behind us. She became quite exasperated as I helped Miss Bacon up the steps on the hillier parts of the grounds. We came to a seat that looked out across the Effin Valley and sat awhile to admire the view and to allow Miss Bacon time to regain her breath. Evelyn sulked as I chatted to the old woman. I must confess I found Miss Bacon's company much more agreeable than my cousin's. After a short time we returned to the house and encountered Malcolm at the front of the house, staring at a dead peacock at his feet. Evelyn gasped and covered her eyes but Miss Bacon, absorbed in the telling of a tale about the Effin Hunt, came to rest upon the dead bird's head. Evelyn shrieked loudly and only then did Miss Bacon become aware of what lay under her feet. Seemingly fearing she was the cause of it's death, she immediately went into a faint. Thank heavens, Malcolm was there to assist me in her catching, for if I had been alone I fear she would still have dropped like a stone. We dragged, rather than carried, Miss Bacon to the steps and sat her down. Evelyn, half-heartedly, wafted her with her shawl until she regained her senses." Fear not! Miss Bacon" said Malcolm, " the bird died from asphyxiation and not by your hand, or foot in this case.""Asphyxiation?" queried Evelyn, "but how?""It appears to have choked upon some cubes of cheese. I cannot understand it myself," said Malcolm. "It's all most peculiar."I do not think anyone noticed me flushing as we helped Miss Bacon to her feet and indoors. "It was very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Bacon," I said, as I took my leave."Oh, please" she smiled,weakly, "call me Megan "
Dear Diary,And so we have come to Effin Hall, the home of the Tents. We have journeyed for most of the day in the Effin Barouche which was sent to fetch us. Tonight we are to dine with our Aunt and Uncle, Malcolm and Evelyn and a small number of their Effin neighbours. I am apprehensive for two reasons, firstly, as I am to be seated next to Evelyn Tent and secondly, that I shall have to partake of the Effin cheese that is made hereabouts. I am in Effin Hell!
Dear Diary,I have been in a fug all day. I awoke late for breakfast and have never quite recovered. Father has been taming the 'beast' and took it out on a lead for the first time today. It is looking much healthier. I am sure it will make an excellent gun dog in time. Fanny and I are to spend the weekend with the Tents at their home, Effin Hall. I look forward to the prospect as I would look forward to 'passing' a swollen badger!
Dear Diary,Fanny whispered to me at breakfast that Ned had confided in her and told her he had feelings for someone in our house. I cannot deny my heart skipped a beat, as I thought of those lovely blue eyes. She said he did not know how to make his feelings known and maybe needed some encouragement. Spurred on, I skipped into the garden and found him tending the rhubarb." Hello Ned" I spoke nonchalantly. He stood and touched the peak of his cap." I cannot help but observe there is something troubling you as you are tending your stems," I remarked." Indeed, Mr Austen, Sir, I have a great deal on my mind, in fact I find myself 'inflatulated' by someone close by and I know not how to broach the subject."I stepped forward and clutched both his arms, " Just say the words," I breathed, " Just open your heart and speak." He stared deep into my eyes and I felt myself falling into them. I released my grip and closed my eyes and waited for him to speak but reply, came there none. When I opened my eyes Ned had gone. As it transpires he went straight to Titty Clamp with a bouquet of rhubarb. I went straight to bed with Christopher Marlowe and Doctor Faustus and let them entertain me for the rest of the day.
Dear Diary,After Chapel, yesterday, I walked awhile with Fanny and Miss Noring and Miss Lott, the ladies from Cobbler's End. We enjoyed a gentle perambulation and as we parted they remarked upon the length of my hair and offered to cut it for me if I so wished. I hesitated for a moment but then I thanked them kindly and asked when would be convenient for me to call upon them. They agreed 'tomorrow' and so today I walked to Cobbler's End for my appointment. They do, indeed, have a lovely garden and even at this time of year, when colour is scarce, I could appreciate the tender care apparent in their beds. I was still looking back admiring the topiary as I reached for the knocker. There was a sudden loud cough as I found my hand grasping one of Miss Noring's breasts. She must have opened the door as I was reaching to announce my arrival. I gasped and snatched back my hand, then we both laughed at the unfortunate occurrence. I was ushered into their parlour and noted the chair placed before the hearth in readiness. Miss Lott appeared to be tidying and dusting the sideboard and was removing all manner of clutter and rearranging the drawers. Miss Noring took my coat and asked if I would like refreshment but I declined. Afterwards I wished I had for my mouth was quite dry with nervousness. Could I trust these ladies with my locks? I felt it unseemly to decline their kind offer of a coiffure. I sat in the chair as Miss Noring appeared with the scissors. I need not have worried so, for Miss Noring's fingers worked nimbly and soon I was admiring myself in their mirror. I now felt able to admit my initial reservations." I need not have been ill-at-ease for you have made a splendid job of it Miss Noring, " I admitted. " I should have heeded Fanny when she declared I only had to see your neatly trimmed bushes to see that it would be so."How I leapt when Miss Lott dropped her drawers! I always seem to say the wrong thing and I know not how I do it.
Dear Diary,Today I have delved deep within my closet and reorganized my wardrobe. Ned assisted me. I am sure the poor will be delighted with some of the vestments I have discarded as surplus to my requirements. However I wondered what to do with the more intimate articles. Ned said he knew of a fellow who would be simply "organismic" to receive them and indeed had enquired after some of Ned's. I think I shall burn them, for it would be unseemly to pass on such garments.
The afternoon I spent wandering hereabouts and came upon a field of sheep. Many had lambed and the offspring were gambolling around merrily. I noticed one beast with particularly appealing eyes, long eyelashes and a soft milky fleece. I fear I have been spending too much time alone. Maybe a visit with the Tents is favourable after all. The sheep......for it is it!
Dear Diary,How interesting ants are. I came upon some in my bush today, or rather they came upon me. They could not get up my breeches as I had stuffed them into my stockings to prevent further multi-legged trespassers. I found their activities diverting on a miserable and lonely day. During the third shower of the day, I finally surrendered my cause and stood in a fit of pique. It was only then that I noticed my 'quarry' had been lying watching me some distance behind me. I thrust the sausage, I had brought to tempt it home, at it in annoyance and stomped down the hill. Unexpectedly, it followed me and once back at the Grange, I wish I could chronicle a lengthy battle to capture it, but no, it meekly followed me into the stables where I was able to shut it in. Of course I did expand upon the truth of it's capture at dinner and enjoyed the appreciation of my achievement. The beast's fate lies in my Father's hands now. I trust he will not neglect his Willie.
Dear Diary,I once met a fellow with an alarming twitch who pronounced he was never happier than when peering into a bush looking for ants. I grant you he did say he was called Napoleon and his best friend was a ferret which he kept secreted about his person, but to all intents and purposes he did appear quite sane. I confess I am growing tired of bushes and thankfully have seen no ants while poking about in them. I am in and out and in and out of bushes and know not how much longer I can keep it up. My resolve in my 'wolf' hunt is wavering, even more so since after dinner this evening I felt a sharp nip in a 'private' place. When I felt it for a second time I just knew that something was not as it should be and rushed to my chamber and threw down my breeches. I was horrified to discover what, indeed, had bitten me. The spider that fell out upon the floor was unlike any I had seen before and of an alarming size. It must have crawled up there earlier in the day. I do not like to think how it had been occupying itself for the past few hours. Fear not! It shall bite no more!
Dear Diary,I am, as Ned would say, fagged out! I cannot remember the last time I felt so fatigued. I have scarce had the energy or inclination to finger my quill and so you have been neglected these past days. But I shall, briefly, bring you up to date on events since then.After my encounter upon the Knob on Sunday I have resolved to capture the beast, not only for it's own sake but I shall present it to Father as a hunting dog, which, although it has not been successful of late, I believe it possesses far more experience than Father's poor Willie. I have been ensconced upon the Knob, disguised as a bush and attempting to entice my prey by waggling a sausage but to no avail. Yesterday I was almost discovered by the ladies of Cobbler's End as they sauntered along arm in arm. I was alerted of their approach by their giggles. They passed very close by and I overheard Miss Noring whispering "That's where I lost my cherry," as she pointed in the general direction of Ballbanger Abbey, with the cucumber she was brandishing. My, how these ladies love their fruit and vegetables!Today, also, I avoided the embarrassment of being found among the undergrowth clutching my sausage. This time I was alerted, initially, by the familiar odour and, secondly, by the inane chatter. Yes! It was the fellow I had encountered on Sunday, wandering these pathways again. He talks aloud to himself! Can you believe it? I waited until he was well out of earshot before laughing and muttering "How odd!", to myself.All this sitting about doing little is most tiring and I am not used to it. However, I have persistence, or 'spunk' as Ned would say so will be in that bush with my sausage as long as it takes, and of course, weather permitting.
Dear Diary,March most certainly arrived like a lion, such a howling and roaring I have never witnessed. It kept me up most of the night and I feared my casement was to come in. This morn we went to Chapel and there were many branches strewn across the path. After the service I slipped out and stood awhile by Collette's grave in silent thought then after lunch I mounted the Knob and gazed out upon the familiar view I have missed of late. I had not been sitting long when I heard a crackling of twigs behind me and turned to find a pair of eyes upon me, a pair of eyes I had gazed into before. Standing less than twenty feet away was the 'wolf'. I suddenly became aware of a loud thumping sound and realised it was my heart. I had nowhere to go except over the precipice if it chose to attack me, but it did not. It just stood and looked at me with it's tongue lolling out of the side of it's mouth. I noticed it was very thin and it's fur badly matted. I remembered I had packed some titbits, should I feel peckish, so carefully I pulled out a cold sausage and tossed it towards the emaciated beast. At first it did nothing, but continued to stare, then after a few moments edged forward carefully and sniffed the food upon the ground. It's head came up again and it's eyes bored into me. My beating heart grew louder in the silence then it made a sudden move and I cried out. It snapped up the meat and turned and headed back into the trees but stopped and looked back at me for a moment before it vanished in the thicket. I do not believe it is a wolf, more so, some abandoned hound living wild upon this hill. On my way home I encountered a very talkative fellow, whose name I did not ask, but let me tell you I have encountered sweeter smelling sheep on these slopes. He would have given Mr Wynde a run for his money in an incessant chatter match. At least Mr Wynde was intelligible, for much of what this fellow spoke was indecipherable. What odd folk there are hereabouts!
