Peep This Diary

A Visitation from Becky Fagan

For the third morning in a row, I was awoken today by the banshee-like screeching of Sean’s new wife, Rebecca, informing her husband (and most of my neighbours) that he was a coward, a sissy, and a disgrace to all men the world over. While I am quite ready to admit that these sentiments are very much in accordance with my own opinions, I could wish that she would choose a more felicitous time and venue to express them than 3 a.m. and my doorstep.

But far be it from me to venture a confrontation with the harpie on my own initiative, and Sean—who has spent the last week sleeping in my guest bedroom, (no doubt a contributing factor in the general air of marital discord that characterizes their union)—appeared even less qualified to deal with this fearful apparition than did I. So it was that, by an exceeding close vote of 2 to 1, Patrick was nominated to reason with young Becky Fagan in the dark and the chill outside my home this morning, and (should his wit and diplomacy not desert him) to dissuade her from performing these nightly ministrations at my door, or at least encourage her to do so at a more appealing volume.

I cannot say that he was successful. It is not for me to decide whether the blow to his pride or the one to his cheek was the more painful to Patrick, but I am certain that he suffers greatly from both. And though we were granted a brief intermission from the invective that had been hurled at these walls following Patrick’s ill-fated intervention, it was shortly to be replaced by an unearthly wailing which promised to rob us all of our sleep until it finally and abruptly ceased at around six o’clock.

It is clear that something must be done. I have given Sean a number of practical suggestions (such as poison) to alleviate his marital woes, but he is not, at present, disposed to receive advice from even his dearest and most deeply concerned friends. I have given him a week to sort it out before I set the dogs upon him.

Posted by Jack on July 10, 1678

A Nightmare in Three Acts ...

You will notice that we have been absent from these pages for some weeks. The truth of the matter, as far as I am concerned, is simply that the events of the last two months have been so exceedingly unpleasant that I was loath to document them lest the very act of documentation appear to give them an imprimatur or a tacit approval from my quarter. And I most ardently do not approve. That having been said, you may be inclined to peruse the following list of occurrences in my life during the months of May and June—and, mayhap, to shed a tear or two for the abject horrors that I have been forced to endure:

1.    Sean is married. I cannot say I find it remarkable that he should have made such a catastrophic error of judgement by throwing away his independence in this fashion, but even I was surprised at his ability to make so completely undesirable a match as the one he has made with Rebecca Lynn Olson—daughter of a failed tradesman from Surrey, social climber, heretic (she once confided to me that she believed the stars were in fact “the winking souls of all the darling little kitties and puppies who are gone to heaven”), and insufferable, driveling bore.

In her favor, I will say that she has demonstrated at least one small piece of good taste: She clearly does not like Sean very much at all.

2.    Patrick’s paper on “The Seven Chromatic Qualities of the Aether” (which, as far as I can tell, is an extremely lengthy and almost disturbingly tedious way of saying that the sky is blue) has been accepted for publication by the Royal Society, and he has spoken of precious little else in more than six weeks. The only respite that I have had from this torment was when I offered to take dictation for a paper he was giving on the topic and replaced every instance of the word “minds” with the word “swine”. Sean and I were so consumed with mirth when he announced to his assembled colleagues that he “considered them a collection of the most literate swine in all of England” that we had to be escorted from the room.

Patrick refused to speak a word to me for a full three days after this event, which was a tender mercy indeed.

3.    I was brought up before the Magistrate yet again for “swindling”. Apparently, some letters I had been sending out (the ones where I claimed to be an African prince in a difficult political situation desirous of temporarily unloading a large quantity of gold bullion upon a trustworthy English gentleman in exchange for a generous percentage of the haul) had fallen into the wrong hands. Fortunately, no one was able to prove anything.

This post is in danger of becoming overlong, so I shall finish now with a bit of blog housecleaning: Patrick, Sean, and I are all now on Twitter, that you might more conveniently stay abreast of our daily operations. More information can be found in the sidebar. I am quite sure that there is more to tell you, so I shall attempt to be much more diligent about keeping Peep This Diary up to date this month. If nothing else, I have quite a good deal more to say about Sean’s new bride.

Posted by Jack on July 7, 1678

The Week Underground and Beyond the Blade

I have enlisted some capable, discreet gentlemen to aid me in the recovery of those parts of my magnificent collections that S&J buried this Autumn passed. We are now past the final frost, and as soon as this cursed rain passes and the ground has dried, we shall dig (!). I am equal parts apprehensive and giddy as a new bride. I fear that six months underground will do the wings of my coleoptera no good whatsoever.

In good news, I am told that J has had a productive first meeting with my colleague, Dr. L, a self-proclaimed expert on the Abatement of Anger Without The Use of Leeches or The Blade. While I have  serious doubts about the scientific validity of this method, Jack does seem in slightly better spirits, though perhaps only because, rather than flowing towards every person he meets, his excessive Bile has been focused entirely on Dr. L. He has not stopped heaping scorn on the man since his meeting.

Posted by Patrick on April 28, 1678

Meeting With a Madman

I have had a very strange day. On a tip from Sean—who has been irritatingly pleasant to me ever since I had a fit of regrettable (but entirely justified) temper and publicly referred to his new ladylove as a “nasty, controlling dragon-woman”—I went to see an acquaintance of his who has some experience in the Hospitality business. I had been hoping that this gentleman (who Sean has called the preeminent expert in the field) would help me to develop a strategy for opening a second whorehouse in London to build on the success of the Crimson Unicorn. I was deeply mistaken in this hope.

When I walked into the gentleman’s home, he flashed me a smile that was eerily similar to my own Emergency Smile No. 17 (for when a new mother insists on making me look at her child), gestured to a daybed in the corner of the room, and bade me recline upon it. Not wishing to upset this eccentric—who, if Sean speaks truth, would be an exceptionally valuable business contact—I acquiesced and lay down upon the divan, at which point we engaged in the following utterly baffling conversation:

Me: I had been hoping, sir, that you would be so good as to help me solve a problem that I have. 
Him: My, my. You are in much better shape than I expected after speaking with Sean. If you can admit that you have a problem, we have already taken the first, halting steps towards a cure.
Me: [stalling for time with Emergency Smile No. 3 (for halfwits)] Yes. Very good. Yes, I see that. ... Perhaps we can start by talking about “syndication”, which, as you know is all the rage amongst London merchants nowadays. What I’m trying to do …
Him: It’s very interesting that you should use the word “rage”, is it not? What made you choose that word?
Me: It’s a fad, a fashion. A trend. A method that is first practiced by thinking men who have a pragmatic need for it, then blindly followed by blithering idiots in search of a substitute for thinking.
Him: [serenely] Very interesting indeed. And how does that make you feel?
Me: [my dudgeon suddenly rising] Sir, if your intention is to waste my time, I would thank you, respectfully, to stuff it. I am a busy man, and I do not suffer fools unless I stand to make a considerable amount of money out of them.
Him: Let it out. Just let it all out.

By this point, I was so incensed that I was unable to speak at all and just sat there working my jaw muscles and blinking at the man, who was clearly either drunk or mad. After we had sat like this for some minutes, he turned to me with that same chilling smile and said, quite matter-of-factly: “We’ve made some real progress here today. Please come back at the same time next week, and tell Sean that I will take on his case pro bono. Very, very interesting indeed.”

And so I left, considerably more confused than when I had arrived, and headed back towards Hampstead, making a brief stop at Smithson’s Emporium to buy a sturdy walking stick with which to beat Sean about the head when I returned home.

Posted by Jack on April 27, 1678

Sean's New Woman ...

...if “woman” she can be called. I would say that she is more like a snake, except that snakes cannot hiss at you with the same malice that this harpy exudes from every pore of her body. I am not exaggerating. Last night, Sean brought this new lady out with us to attend a performance of Middleton’s Women Beware Women. Sean was acting nauseatingly coy, in a manner that I have not seen since the day that he sold me a pair of silver candlesticks which I later discovered he had stolen from my own dining room.

Although I was justifiably suspicious of this obsequious behaviour, I went out of my way to make the girl comfortable, and even attempted conversation with her during the first intermission, asking whether she might not be more comfortable backstage fawning all over the actors than listening to us discuss matters that were far removed from her interest and intellect. But despite my Herculean efforts to make her feel welcome, she spoke only to Sean the entire evening, and (oddly) she never once changed the subject from his finances. Such an unpleasant, ungrateful bore of a woman I have never met in my entire life. It's no surprise that Sean is besotted with her.

Posted by Jack on April 6, 1678

All hope with Jack Shepherd is Lost

I have been remiss in mentioning that I have made the acquaintance of a Young Lady. This is not due to any reticence on my part, but more from a fear of what Jack would do upon discovery. Based on recent actions, he is most likely to call her a “snuffling whore” and deposit her into the Midden

Of the Young Lady (whose name I shan’t mention, we shall simply call her B) her qualities are too numerous to list here. However, she has shown a keen interest in finance, and while could be seen as most unbecoming of a Lady, her insights on how best to invest my wealth have been invaluable.

More importantly,B represents my best chance on gaining entrance into Society. She has several Contacts of great Import who could only serve to further my career of which she says I am wasting in the acquaintance of Mssrs. Shepherd and Thrasher.

Tomorrow we are to go hawking. I have never been myself, but have heard Jack deride it as an activity for “men who can only find pleasure in life by galloping about the countryside without a thought in their heads.” I am sure I shall enjoy it immensely. 

Posted by Sean on April 5, 1678

Recap

Things achieved this week

1. Mucked out Buchephalus’ stable.
2. Finished six pints at the Griffin.
3. Avoided fencing “practice.”
4. Hired five new girls at the Crimson. Three redheads!
5. Learned the proper use of the word “discourse.” It turns out not to be dirty.

Things NOT achieved this week

1. Posting more regularly.
2. Finally beating Jack at cards.
3. Avoiding one of Patrick’s interminable lectures.
4. Breaking in one of the three redheads. (You would think they would have checked their morals at the door!)
5. Went to church.

The week has been more or less successful, though I would be inclined to go with less.

Posted by Sean on April 5, 1678

More fun at the CU

I must say S & J have been making quite a go of the Crimson Unicorn. Bar seats have become so lucrative that I have been forbidden from lingering there without "paying my way," which, given the margins they seek, requires buying at least three quarts of ale and a tussle with a two-pearl (minimum) wench. And - as I believe I have mentioned already - cash only, upfront.

As I do not have the income, stomach, or inclination to commit myself to such an outlay by simply walking through the doors, J and I have negotiated an alternative arrangement. If I can improve their take on their slowest evening (Sunday) by a specified amount, I may be exempt from the minimum drink/whore requirements. As S so clearly put it, J & S pick up on a slow night what they lose on my slow, cheap arse on a busy one. It's little wonder they've done so well.

At the time this seemed like an excellent deal for all, but I begin to think I have gotten the short-end of the stick.

Posted by Patrick on April 3, 1678

Of Whores and Journalists

After I mentioned this week that the Crimson Unicorn received a write-up in The London Gazette which had quite a salutary effect on our little business, many of you readers have been clamouring for me to post the review itself on Peep This Diary, that you may read it for yourselves. Before I do so, I will take pains to remind you that this blog is not a democracy and that your pathetic, self-serving entreaties have about as much sway with me as do the political opinions of a leprous beggar (or a woman) with the King of England. However, the write-up was really quite something to behold, and it had been my intention to post it here even before I was so rudely enjoined to do so by individuals amongst my readership. If I may extend my earlier metaphor to elaborate this point—when the wishes of the common people mirror the edicts of the King, we may be sure that we are in a nation that is well governed or—more likely—well policed. This is the article I was referring to:

Posted by Jack on March 29, 1678

Up late with a good read

I have remained up far past my bedtime, and assuredly ruining my eyes, reading
Huygen's Horologium Oscillatorium. It's mechanical wonders astonish; I count myself fortunate to live in an age that sees such technological advances.

Posted by Patrick on March 28, 1678