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Back again

25 June, in the year of our Lord 2020

Two days ago, up to find a panel dropped from under the floor of my carriage on which was done some work this last week: it attached at the back as if hinge’d but the front of it not and scraping on the lane with a mighty noise when it moved, and worse, another noyse now, apparent at speed even once the entiretie of the panel taken off, which was hidious like a mighty flapping fit to break apart the carriage. I vexed, for it seemed to me a problem caused by a fixing, hence my appointment at The Repair Shoppe rearranged for today, there also to retrieve Mr. M. Jones as I was expected to do it, but a day late which I did contrive to prevent two journies, and though I thought it would not to be to his content that the rest would do him good. The weather the hottest for many days, which I did not expect and think it will not last but it was to my pleasure for today. The journey slow for fear of the noise, but by and by there and greeted by Jay, they taking my carriage away for its fixing, I suspecting they holding it is something I have done to damage it, and they suspecting I holding that it is something they have not done in the recent repare of it, which is to screw the panel back on preperlie though I held my tongue. Thence to the other matter of importance and to a hall, where a seat on which a coverture and two men standing six feet apart behind it (as has come to be the norm), one the man Dom and an other.
  ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ says Jay. ‘I think you met Dom, and this is Kevin — ’
  ‘ — plastic surgeon —,’ interjects the other.
  ‘ — and they have done all the hard work. Dom is a handyman, carpenter — ’
  ‘ — blacksmith, ironmonger and self-styled bone setter,’ says Kevin, with irony ill-hid.
  ‘ — and Kevin — ’
  ‘ — does the clever stuff.’
  ‘You remember what he looked like when you brought him in?’ With that off he whipps the coverture from the chair and its Occupant.
  I could not be other than amazed. ‘Oh, my goodnesse!’ I could hardly see for the teares in my eyes. ‘I can remember what he was like. His pate is all shiny! And you have made him a new suit — !’
  ‘From an old tapestry.’
  ‘I don’t know how you’ve done it.’
  ‘I’ve buffed up his top,’ explains Kevin, ‘taken an orbital sander to his face and put some filler in the old scars — ’
  ‘ — and I’ve done the other hip — ’ chips in Dom.
  ‘ — and I’ve given him a little neck tuck just under the chin.’
  ‘ — and this little hole over the hip is the end of a tiny tube so that if it begins to squeak you can squirt W. Dee Forte down it.’
  ‘You have thought of everything!’
  ‘It’s corrected that funny walk and his posture is a lot better. He will start better in the morning and you should get a lot more mileage out of him.’
  ‘He’s got his twinkle back!’ say I, admiringly, and had to dab my eyes.
  ‘We haven’t done anything down there apart from some lubrication for the slidey motion.’
  ‘He will have pride of place at home,’ say I. ‘He has a new rocking chair in his kitchen and a wooden truck of his own making. I will sit him in front of his magic screen and he will be as happy as a larry. I cannot thank you enough.’
  I dare to ask Mr. Jones, ‘How do you feel?’
  ‘I thought you were coming yesterday,’ says he.
  My carriage repared at no account to myselfe, we to M. Jones his house and the sun glinting off his crown as if off a polished bead. At dinner we did discourse of the weeke and of divers matters; that in a time of plague and Consternation the First Lord of the Treasury has seen fit to have his ship painted, which was grey, and is now in the colors of the flag so it is truly a flagship, which may be of much content to his ego but all costed to the tax payer who knew not its existence anyway. Also that the Plymouth Colony hath the plague worse than we, even though the Secretarie for the Plague Mr. Matt. Handcock hath not been there to help spread it, and their leader is trumpeting his vacuity for all to heare, he being the most pitiful and sorriest I did ever hear of in my life and an idle, prating man of a ridiculous pride who will have none gainsay him for he believes all that comes out of his mouth to be a great Idea, yet he is the coloure of a sweet China orange, which is manifestlie a bad idea and I cannot think of how many he must eat to be like that. 

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.

2 replies on “Back again”

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