Dear Diary,
"Let us give thanks for our joyous bounty, the gift of life!" droned the Parson in his last sermon. I fear the joy was eschewing me. He then went on to christen Molly Ursula Frances Futtock who understandably wailed at the name she was bestowed and I must confess I felt a bond between us, being both at the mercy of our parents thus.
The 'Weverwand Wussell' is indeed to be our next shepherd which completed the morning entirely.
Walking back to the Grange, Willy caught me up and apologised with all the grace and demeanor of an angel for his behaviour last week and offered to play for real, hide and seek, after lunch. I smiled forgivingly and looked back to see who was behind us. Having just rounded a bend, there was no one in sight. I placed a friendly hand upon his shoulder and tripped the oik upon the ground where he, fortuitously, landed face first in a steaming pile of horse manure.
"No, thank you," I sighed as I walked on, feeling slightly better in spirit.
The day did not improve much beyond that. I spent some time wondering if the nuns would give me sanctuary at Ballbanger Abbey and even contemplated running away, perhaps to Manchesterford or London, but dare I risk exile from the Grange?
I fear I must face this...whatever it is...and weather whatever weather I have to weather whether it be good weather or bad weather.
Kristin Chenowith - Home
14 years ago
4 comments:
I'm so glad you took my advice regarding that little oik!
Dear Wayne,
Fear not, it might not be so bad as you think.
A problem shared is a problem halved. I'll stick with you no matter what.
Intrepidly yours,
B.
My dear distant 'Haraldur?'
Indeed, the boy had it coming to him, but at some other time I may have been more forgiving...then again, perhaps not.
Yours contentedly,
Wayne Austen
My dear intrepid Mr 'Moose',
I will gladly share my problems but if it were one off Mrs Crutchlow's cakes...that would be another matter.
Yours forthrightly,
Wayne Austen
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