6 June, in the year of our Lord 2022
After dinner, finding myself pretty well, by water to White Hall to see the great vote for which all are waiting on the result, upon which rests the fate of the First Lord of the Teasurey. There met with many fine men of the Paliament, all in a great excitement and very many vehement against the matter of the First Lord’s deceptions, even on his own side, and come to hate the cloying of his speeches. Sat with my Lord Anglesy till Sir G. Bradie told all that 148 of his own party vote against him, which the First Lord in his delusion claims ‘convincing and dicisive’. After supper, read the Gazette, where the latest tragedy of the Cossack lands I found relegated to p5, buried by the feverish speculacion which is now rife, though it is nothing more than gossip to provoke cheap tittilacion among those who read it, as to the fate of our illustrious leader and those who might seek to dipose him. All now is Johnson; naught Silenski. Such is the fickleness of the Press.
9 June, in the year of our Lord 2022
After breakfast, to visit my mother and father, who are well, and by coach with my father to take him for his latest appoyntment to be put through the magick contryvance to see into his chest. While with them my father invited me to look at a great Lesion on my mothers hip, present these last weeks and all a-fester with copiose puss, it appearing to my eye as a Carbuncle, such as we saw reported from time to time in the Navy with sailers at sea. I proposed that we fill her with her favorite sherris sack, place a knotted kerchief between her jaws and incise it with the point of a cutlass, but my father preferred that she first compleat a course of Flewcloxercilline.
Pepys: the Covid Diaries (2020- ) 