29 June, in the year of our Lord 2021
Yesterday after the kerfuffle with the shoppe sign and an early supper, to see my mother and father, and stayed there with them, today being the birthday of my mother who is ninety-one years and hath caught up to my father, who is the same. Merry all day with deliverys of flowers and of an afternoon tea of scones with a preserve and some thick cream, sent from my cousen Fennela, onlie that we did not eat it for my mother and father have but a tiny appetite between them, so it was left for the next day. And my mother was very pleased with the scarve I bought her.
‘Oh,’ says she, ‘that is very nice. Is it silk?’
‘Of course,’ say I.
‘Such beautiful colours. Gold and black!’
‘It is freshly painted,’ say I, touched by the appreciacion. ‘Leave it a day to dry.’
Home by evening, much contented to see them in such fine spirits.