Relieved to say I fell asleep - gracious me, what a sight, not at all the bronzed hardened ruffian I had hoped for expected.
Am sitting on my portmanteau awaiting the carriage.
There is a spare key to the distillery drying shed in the vase under the picture of St. Mary the Hairy and a set of spare keys for the Hall in the drawer of the rickety table under the picture of St. Justin the Lustin'.
Please remember not to give Cook any of the juniper-berry-flavoured tisane. No matter how hard she begs.
Watkins may have a glass of ale with his supper but only one. Too much and he goes into the village looking for widows and we all know how that turns out. Inconsolable sobbing and badly-written poetry. And the widows were much aggrieved too.
Farewell, IPOAT Hall Ladies and Gels. I hope those still in Transylvania return safely.