Dear Diary,
You are rapidly running out of pages!
I have been jotting upon your crisp, ivory leaves these past eleven months and have scarce missed a day. You have been the companion I have longed for all those past, long and lonely nights. What comfort you have given me propped upon my pillow. How patient you have been and how you have accepted with quiet resignation the day to day stumbling that is my life. What shall I do when you are complete? How shall I while away those final minutes before I surrender myself to slumber? I shall cast it from my mind for now but the time fast approaches when I fear our journey together shall come to an end.
The ladies travelled to Pimpton today to replenish Fanny's wardrobe. I declined the invitation to accompany them, for though I like to caress and handle pretty and expensive things, I find no pleasure in the company of a ladies undergarments. I amused myself capably for much of the morning and was just sitting down to lunch when Willow entered to say I had a visitor. A breathless and fairly ruddy faced Miss Dixon was shown in and she apologised effusively for the unfortunate timing of her visit and insisted that her business could wait until the morrow, when, she hoped I would do her the great honour of accompanying her to a recital by the celebrated Irish countertenor Ken Brianeddy in Hoarcambe. I readily agreed and she left me to my stuffed partridge with seasonal vegetables.
I was somewhat at a loss in the afternoon and Willow must have sensed it for he offered musical distraction. I followed him willingly and believed we were to the music room to finger the harpsichord but no, he led me to his chamber and treated me to a recital upon his oboe.
What a magnificent instrument! How well he handles it, and yet such an unusual colour.......pink!
Kristin Chenowith - Home
14 years ago
6 comments:
Oh no! Please not!!!
-h
Dear Wayne,
I pray get thee to a stationers for the purchase of more crisp, ivory leaves. I have heard that diaries are available in five year editions and suggest you do try one of those as a one year volume is far too scant for your appealing and arousing entries.
How fortunate indeed you were to receive a private recital by Willow upon his own oboe. With the appropriate instrument and sufficient instruction and practice I think I could be quite musically inclined and I do like pink.
Yours sans tutor,
B.
Dear Wayne,
I'm sure I speak for all, when I say that the land's gentlefolk would be devestated, if you stopped entering your jottings in your splendid diary. I could never rest easy again, without knowing how you, and your loyal servant Ned, were fareing.
Bye the bye, if Ned ever gets tired of handling your magnificent Python, I could offer him plenty of manual labour at my modest estate.
Sincerly, Master Kokserker
My dear distant Mr 'H',
What?! Has the volcano erupted again?!
Yours anxiously,
Wayne Austen
My dear Mr Moose,
You would have me scratching my nib until the end of my days. I fear I do not have it in me.
Yours faithfully,
Wayne Austen
My dear Master Kokserker,
Greetings and felicitations to you. I shall endeavour to regale you with my mundane existence for as long as is humanly possible but you know what they say..."All good things come to an end!" Surely it can also be true of 'dull' things.
As for Ned I doubt we shall ever let him go...he is, well, a part of the family, though perhaps a more uncouth, unclean and uneducated member but a member nonetheless.
Yours protectively,
Wayne Austen
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