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Inspiration for an essay

22 June, in the Year of Our Lord 2020

After breakfast to my Spanish deberes, which still not done though three days to do it, which should be delivered to Iñigo el Vasco for his studie of it, and though it is a thornier tongue than I thought when I started, I enjoie the learning of it which is now five years and wish to improve more. I am to write an essay of 150 words on a Subjecte of my choice and as usual unable to think of one. By and by a knock at the door, which I opened and standing there a short figure of some stoutnesse in a pink head-dress and matching frock, cross-gartered and with bow, arrows, shield and a sword sheathed at the waist, holding a package.
  ‘Good morning!’ says he, perkilie. ‘Mr. Samuel Peppers?’
  ‘Yes — ?’
  ‘Amazonian deliveries! I have a package for you.’
  ‘Oh! Thank you. If that is my bilberrie Scrabbler it is in admirable good time. You’re not the usual guy, are you?’
  ‘I’m filling in. He’s off with the Covey.’ At which he pulled a theatricle face of mock fright and made with his hand to slice his throat from side to side. ‘What do you think?’ asked he then, indicating his attire and stepping back to take a twirl and stage a curtsey.
  ‘I have never seen anything quite like it.’
  ‘Thank you! I am entering the St. Paul’s Drag Race!’ he beamed. ‘Everything crossed…!’
  ‘I did not know the Cathedral — ’
  ‘It is part of their Project to reach out to the LGBTQT Communitie.’
  ‘And you are the Cutie?’ I ventured. He blushed. ‘How tall are you?’
  ‘Five two.’
  ‘Maybe a bit on the short side for an Amazon.’
  ‘I have heels here somewhere,’ he said, rummaging, ‘if you’d like to see. They’re Manolos. Cost a fortune. Just hold my quiver,’ he added, archerly.
  ‘That won’t be necessary. But, look…I know Amazons were warriors and all that, but did they have beards?’ asked I, skepticle.
  The poor thing looked downcast so that I felt a pang of sorrowe for him. ‘I am without means of shaving these past ten days.’
  ‘Perhaps you would like to use my beard trimmer? I will get it. You may stand in the kitchen here,’ offered I, indicating a position a suitable distance away. ‘And I have counted the spoons.’ And so I did lend it to him and left him for the ten minutes of his using it before I return’d with a looking glass, but alas —
  ‘Oh, my God!’ he cried. ‘I am turned all purple!’
  ‘Ah. Um, yes…I forgot about —’
  ‘Will it wash out?’ he wailed.
  ‘It will take a couple of days. When is your audition?’
  ‘Half past two!’ said he forlorn.
  ‘Then you shall say it is blood from the Spartans you have killed in battle!’ I reply’d to enthuse him.
  He, brightening, said, ‘Do you think? If I get through there’s a Covey Special on Wednesday where we all stand six feet apart on the cathedral steps. Would you like to come?’
  Fortunately I have an excuse. ‘Wednesday, you say? Wednesday I have to pick up someone up from The Repair Shoppe.’
  A sharp intake of breath and he in awe. ‘Not…Will?
  ‘Martin. But you must away to St Paul’s. I will be thinking of you and I am sure you will do well.’
  ‘Oh, I so hope so! It would mean everything! Love the colour of your kitchen, by the way. It’s not — ?’
  ‘No, it isn’t. Off you go, Hippolyta.’
  So did he leave merrie, and I think him the kind of person who will bounce back whenever life will trip him up, and that he will endeede do well, for he is true to himselfe and that is a rare skill.
  Before dinner I sweeped up the pile of beard trimmings, and after it did return with renewed Purpose to put quill to paper for the title of my essay for the Basque, which is Mi reunión con un Amazona. 

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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