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A strange remedie

28 April, in the year of our Lord 2020

Up, to feed my friend’s cat, who is sweete and wishes for company more than food and did follow me home, I having to walk him back and give him the slip a second time by dodging behind a parked carriage. These days like a loop. I feel I know my house and garden more intimitely than ever in my life. In my library yesterday did find tiny insectes whose name I knew not but in a book, carpet beetle. Sent for a remedie.
  I thank God for letters from my friends and family and there good humour, and for the gazette and dispatches with news of many perticulars in the worlde. In Sweden they have heard of immunity. From the Plymouth Colony, that sun and eating soap do aid recovery from the plague, which reminded me of my wife, her use of puppy dog water for her complexion. The First Lord of the Treasury hath made an appearance, his first since he left St. Tho. Hospitalle, and a Statement too, though emphasis concealing emptiness, as is his wont. I know not where he gets his wigs but consider myself fortunate, though Jervas be a rogue. One letter from my sister, who is learning the lute by Messenger, he remembering what she plays in Woolwich and singing it back to her tutor in Plumstead, then back to her with betterments and so forth, they charging her suspicious sums plus travel from my funds.
  Afternoon, exercise, and, outside the Physician’s, Mr. J. MacSporran in full belted Scottish plaid, his wife self-isolating in the attic. I said why the fancy dress, and he that he had read in the gazette, ‘You can only test if you actually have the kilt’. I told him he would probably find it was, ‘You can only test if you actually have the kit.
  The evening with my own cat Banjo, which is a kind of lute.

By andywmacfarlane

I am a retired medic who likes messing around with a bit of writing, and friends seemed to like my social media postings of "Samuel Pepys: The Covid Diaries". So I'm having a go at blogging them.

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