16th February, morning

Woke to the sounds of the early morning deliveries heading for the docks some blocks away.  Horse-drawn carts carrying goods to and from ships waiting patiently at their moorings.  I also awoke to the raucous voice of Mrs Gwarne yelling at the cook: "This mait es gone pindy an' the turmots es gone pluffy!" which made me thankful that I would not be staying much past breakfast.  

"Put oal the scroff in the pig's bucket", sailed through my open window and turned my thoughts to perhaps that a light, liquid breakfast may suffice.  "Come on, you gate slocum, do ee git on weth the job 'sted uv frickin' 'round!"  

A calmer voice retorted: "Do ee stop yer tongueing, wumman.  Ee jes' some stodgy but ee make a fitty job uv et."

15th February, evening

Staying at The Boiled Frog Inn in Codpiece Lane till the morning of the seventeenth.  The innkeeper, a Mr Albert Gwarne, speaks with a strong Cornish country accent, and regaled us all this evening with many a tall tale from his home county.  His comely daughter, Miss Millicent Gwarne, joined in with some games such as 'Musical Chairs', 'Dumb Crambo' (which we all knew as 'Charades') and Mr Gwarne's favourite, 'My father bought a rooster', wherein we all sat around the room and one resident would say to his neighbour: "My father bought a rooster" and so on round each person.  The next round, the question plied was: "Can he crow?"  On the final round everyone crowed like cocks at dawn, all at once, and the inn erupted like a madhouse!  Oh, such hearty jinks!

Mr Gwarne, who hailed from the Water-me-trout area near Wendron, married Mrs Gwarne, who came from Touch-me-pipes adjacent to the town of St Keverne.  He had sold his first inn, Ye Olde Punch Bowl and Ladle, for a tidy sum he said, and had moved his family to Southampton with hopes of obtaining a better vocation in shipping and an education for his daughter.  But to no avail it seemed, as he ended up purchasing The Boiled Frog with his last savings and returning to his former vocation.

During the evening, I had noticed that Mrs Gwarne, a rather pleasingly plump woman, seemed to be overly concerned about her daughter's diet and health, continually offering her (and I must say, everyone else in the room) copious amounts of food and drink.  She referred to her often as a 'proper skinamalink', which Miss Millicent, an altogether charmingly buxom young lass, later explained to me that it meant her mother thought that she was far too thin (which of course she was not, by any means) and needed to eat a lot more. 

Mrs Gwarne was also eternally leaning her bodice over me and saying things such as: "I dunnaw 'bout you, but I'm some leary.  Willes ev wan uv me nubbies?"  I must say I was rather taken aback as to what she was referring to, until Miss Millicent lent close and whispered quietly in my ear this translation: "She said, I don't know about you, but I'm quite hungry.  Will you have one of my buns?"

It was at this point that Mrs Gwarne, having spied this kind gesture on her daughter's part, began hinting that her daughter had taken a 'widdle' (a fancy) to me.  She nudged me and winked, saying: "'Tez like she knaw'd ee 'fore you wuz britched.  Albert an' I don't mind ev you git t' sparkin' weth 'er.  She' some coxy an' do dearly love to titillate t' dennar an' all."  Poor Miss Millicent, who had overheard this, blushed bright scarlet, turned and rushed out of the room.  

Mrs Gwarne turned to her husband and said: "Look Albert, Maid Millicent got a fair vlicker up now 'er nahm sed."  Mr Gwarne, who had been attending to some matters outside, re-entered saying firmly to his wife: "'Tedn' no good t'git 'er all hurried up 'bout et, wumman, so stop yer courantin'."  He then turned to me apologetically, and said: "She seem to be gittin'er in a vouch 'ere.  Arh, 'tez awnly ole wemmens widdles, sirree.  Daren't ye mind 'er now."

By this time I had almost begun to translate for myself, as I had gotten the gist of what Mrs Gwarne was intimating.  That knowledge, and Mr Gwarne's gesturing, was prompting me to remove myself from her sight.  So, it being after 10 o'clock, I bid all a good night and retired to my room for some well-deserved rest and respite.

But not before Mrs Gwarne had the last word: "Ye be gittin' yer beauty sleep then, Colonel?  Et be good, thee must know the snortleywiggans do oal come out be night, so et be better abed!"

15th February, morning

Arrived Southampton after a dreadful coach trip on some of the worst dashed roads in England.  Had to continue with only three horses when one of the team had gone doolally during the night.  Couldn't handle the roads either, I suppose.  As well as this, we had to jettison a passenger to reduce the load on the way.  He certainly wasn't too happy about it all, but when I threatened to shoot his bollocks off, he demurred.  My posterior having recovered from the journey, I shall endeavour to find lodgings till I embark.