I must confess myself lamentably remiss in my duties to this journal in the past fortnight. Not only did my grandparents from the Colonies pay a charming visit - and what true gentleman could be so crude as to neglect his guests? - but, most maddeningly, my servants have been even more remiss than usual in their own duties. My maidservant, indeed, claimed to be ill, and my manservant devoted far more time to caring for her than to pressing my cravats and polishing my boots. Imagine, if you will, my chagrin at receiving a mere two changes of clothing per day! The time I might have spent communing with my pen, entertaining and enlightening History through this journal, was instead required for the chastisement of my servants...to little avail, I fear.

Nevertheless, I honored my social commitments by sallying forth on Sunday to dine with four gentlemen and a lady of my family's acquaintance at a rather odd, quasi-Italianate inn, titled the "Pizza Express". Sadly, this location proved a most regrettable choice. The waiters spoke more to our various servants than to ourselves, and the food served was clearly inappropriate to our genteel palates. (Thus, in our generosity, we allowed our servants to eat all of it.) Indeed, had we not all possessed the foresight to bring our own sustenance with us from home, we might well have starved! All five of my companions chose to sleep through much of the meal in protest. I alone remained heroically awake, but expressed my disapproval in no uncertain fashion.

So poor a service cannot and must not be tolerated.

Something Must Be Done.

I regret to say that there are multiple points to which I must take issue in my treatment of the last few days.

Firstly, a true physician retains the title of "gentleman" only because he does not sully either his own hands or his patients' dignity by immodest physical handling or examinations. I am sorry to say that the doctor my servants chose for me has therefore forfeited his claim to that title. I shall say no more, but leave it to my gentle readers to draw their own inferences, painful tho' they may be.

Secondly, I cannot condone the new food my servants have taken to offering me far too many times every day. It is not flavourless, but rather too much to the contrary, as it has far too much flavour, of a singularly unpleasant type; it is served not on a silver platter but in a vulgar plastic syringe; and it is served in quantities suitable only for the greediest & most common of palates. Worst of all, my servants pay no attention when I inform them (in the clearest possible terms) of my distaste for the dish.

Thirdly, and finally, I am still ill.

Something Must Be Done.

To: Messrs. Mothercare & Sons.

Leeds: Saturday 25 October

Sir,

It falls to me, as my servants have once again failed to discharge their duties, to write to you regarding the attire you recently provided, which I am sorry to say was entirely inadequate and inappropriate for a Gentleman of my station.

As all know, a Gentleman requires the following items, as a minimum, for his wardrobe:

Pantaloons, shirts of white linen, several waistcoats, boots suitable for riding, a plain, cut-away coat, knee breeches, white stockings, black shoes (I am partial to golden buckles rather than silver), an evening coat, a great coat, a chapeau-bras, a high-crowned hat and a good supply of cravats.

'Onesies', 'babygros' and a green bobble hat are not suitable substitutes.

I trust that you will see to my requirements properly this time, lest I be forced to change tailors.

Yrs,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Stripped naked in public again.

Unbelievable!

I responded with outrage, but to no avail.

What kind of world is this that I have found myself in?

Urinated in protest.

Ha!

***

In other news, several minutes went by today when food was not available.

I may have to dismiss the servants.