The 23rd day of September 2023


I must report myself tired and vexed after my efforts since last I wrote. I’ve tackled my affairs, established a new programme of physical work to chase away my expanding stomach, and am arranging a schedule of creative and social endeavours to sharpen the mind, such as it is.

I was able to make time this morning to sit and listen to a travelling storyteller regale me with a tale entitled Piranesi. The start of which I had begun many months before, but I was gratified to resume the story. The ‘teller’s voice was most soothing and the tale so engaging I found myself listening for hours with the sun on my face.

Such exploits do me well, though I confess myself never far from thinking of your warm and jovial company, or of having my hand held in yours upon your lap once again. I secretly wonder if such thoughts play on your mind as well, I’d like to think of them bringing a smile to your face in my absence.

One small morsel from The Village, it seems our recently disgraced barman friend was seen drunkenly singing up at his wench’s window late yesterday evening. I’ve heard she appeared there briefly, at least, long enough to blow him a kiss and flash him, before waving him home for the evening. This seemed to satisfy him greatly, and he wore an insufferable smirk for the remainder of the day.

I trust you are enjoying yourself, Madame. Longing to speak with you once more.

Yours, A.