Friday 18th April 1808

Dear Diary,
Why is a bed at it's most comfortable when it is time to rise? I was knocked up by Ned as usual this morn but found it most difficult to depart the cosy embrace of my bed linen. As I lay there holding my pillow I imagined the joy of waking with another and wondered what it must be like. There was that time, at Mr Griffith's, when I awoke with Palpitations, but I do not count waking with that univited and brazen butler to be representative of the joys of shared arousal. I wonder when my time will come.
Much of the greenery, so absent these past months, is making it's annual return, with stems pushing out of the ground and buds aloft, slowly opening. The birds are more sonorous and busy collecting nesting material and there is the expectant buzz of certain procreation all around. Whilst in the garden today I heard a happy twittering from a nearby bush and pausing, espied a merry pair of tits engaged in delightful courtship. If only I had had my gun! How I loathe and detest this time of year!