On holiday: day the First

16 September, in the year of our Lord 2021

Up, and slept well in the house in the hamlett of Morrar, where we come late last night, and to bed after some fish with chipps, which we take in our room, there being no inn to offer us a table, though after yesterdays affairs I still with some little grutchings in the morning.
  ‘The patient must minister to himselfe,’ admonishes Mr. Jones as he brings in the tray that hath been left for us, for Mrs. Macbeth says we must have a continentle breakfast in our room owing to the Covey (though none here but us), which we had, though it difficult to balance every thing and not spill any thing on the carpet, which being white is a bad choice for a room for guests, and I make a mentle note to avoid oysters. Mrs. Macbeth counsels that we must book ahead if we are to eat at supper, for there are still many abroad visiting and the taverns filled, and on the roads many great large coaches where people can sleep over night in them, and ablute themselfs and dine in them, and generally block up all the parking spaces.
  ‘Is it not like being in a play by Mr. Shakespeare,’ giggle I, ‘with our hostess so named?’
  ‘Like that one we saw on NT Live?’ asks Mr. Jones, vaigly.
  ‘Not that one,’ say I. ‘That was A Midsummers…something. A comedy, as ’twas billed, that I saw once at the King’s Theatre and did think the most insipid ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life, and did vow never to see again. The one I am thinking of is a Tragedie.’
  ‘I think ’tis naught other than a fancy conjured by your overhung mind. Eat your keewee fruit and sober up.’
  Which I do, and while my head pounds in truth my heart is full of joy, it being more than twenty years, I think, since I come here. After breakfast, walked upon the beaches, where a fine view to the islands, and it all much as I remember it, only now a by-pass funded by Evrope as was proclaymed upon a sign; and then walked for a long while upon the sand, which was all powderie and the purest white I ever saw in such a thing, and all whiter for it being a fine sun shine. After dinner, we went on a very long walk above the lake, in the hills that look north, where are great inlets of the sea and greater hills, and the wind took away the Midgies so we were not all a-itch. For supper eat some fresh fish in Mallague, with a pint of fine wine, only the inn very noisie and the musick very loud, but much contented with our fare, which I think was the best there to be had — 3l 8s. 6d., which Mr. Jones payed on his Card, which is like not paying for any thing and joyed me greatly. And so home to our lodgeings and to bed.

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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