6 December, in the year of our Lord 2020
Lords day. Up, the weather foul and excessive wet, and all the world without colour. This is, I think, the worst 4 weekes of the yeare, when it is dark late and dark early. Returned home to my house three days since, taking leave of my parents and their house, which I am fond of, though to navigate it is like to go around an obstackle course on account of the clutter, even in the bath Room, where there is no room to floss a tooth. But my father is in excellent good cheer for his treatement hath run its course and he is well, which he did not expect to be. Dined with Mr. M. Jones and Mr. Redz. Holyfield, at the Whitefort Arms, on White Fort Street, on a fine monk fish and a stickie pudding with toffe and a Bannana, which I saw before only in the shopp of Thos. Johnson in Holborn; only that the sale of wine and beer is not permitted, lest drunkards spread the plague, so partoke of a pint of none alkerholic wine, mulled to disguize it. 10l 3s. 4d. for all, only Mr. Jones did insist he payd, and that we should think it a gift from Mr. van Oppenreitsch. Mr. Holyfield left six cakes which he made, with a butter cream icing in many Coloures, which were all to our great content.
7 December, in the year of our Lord 2020
After breakfast, with Mr. M. Jones by our coaches, seperate, to the coast, where walked 5 miles by the sea, where I had not walked before, but it cold, and it fell a-raining all the time, which was against the weather prophecie, and I with no proofs against the weather, became soaked. Left a coach at start and finish, for which I was grateful, so sat in the one of Mr. Jones to air dry, and dined on sandwichs, which have now been invented, flame grilled stake crisps and a Yorkist chockerlate bar. Saw a red squirle.