Middle Ages Mumsnet

[AnyFuleKno]

Dear mumsnet, mine husband hath broken his arm falling from atop the midden. How many leeches should I apply?

Of such fame and importance is this topic it has been raised to the Discussion of the Daye!!

Yeah verily!

"He didst proclaim me to be a shrew"

To the ducking stool with thou, shrew. Thou is way past taming.

Partaking of the meade hath affected my powers of making 'olde words' :)

Yebutter, call ye guard. Thy husband has no business whippyng thee in ye street, he has returned with this vile affliction, and is much to blayme for thy upheavals. Next, take all hys vestements and throw them into ye midden. Thou dost not have to lyve with thys man, cast hym out and go seek a thingy shaped turnip for thy amusement and satysfaction.

Most oblig-ed to yee YeButerfleogeEffete!

Be I Departedde From Mine Wittes?

Mine deere husbande sitteth on ye sacks of soft woolle everie night, and helpeth me not to keep sweete and cleane ye rushes of ye floore, nor to hushe ye hootinge cryes of our childer.

I toile night and daye, yet he stayeth onlie withinne and playeth with ye Knights of Woode, yay even painting themme divers hues, and feigning warre, as if he werre a boye of V sommeres.

Have I departedde from mine wittes to wish to ridde my thresholde of this most foule lodger of ye Cocke?

Mistress Elephants, thine liege lord doth consort with Satan should he play with ye wooden poppets and not fiddle with hys prycke all night as do noble yeomans who dwelleth in this sceptic isle. As elder wise woman and crone of ye village i abjure thee to anoint a thingy-shaped turnip with ye fiery spices from ye far east and introduce same to thy goodman's fundament.

Ye Gawds, this topik hath gone way beyond belief! Can I verily admyt to Laughing my behynd away!

Reading this discourse has caused me to bepiss my undergarments.

Washing day is not till Midsummers Eve - how shall I fare if my Lord and Master wanteth not the use of my body from this day till that?

Doth any of the good wives here know of a tincture by which I can cause my good Husbande to befoul his own breeches, so we are evenly matched?

What think ye fyne wymmen of this state of affairs, as verily I haf been of perplexed state of mind? Thanks be to the Lorde that I haf been as fruitful of wombe as my Syre has been fruitful of loine, and I haf borne him IV fyne childer. Yet my maidenne figure haf I no more, for my behynde groweth like as a pustule on the fayce of a gyant. Whence cometh this evil swelling? How beste to decrease the girthe of said problemme?

mistress boffinmum, ye may be merry for the travellyng necromancer Paul of the McKenna clan doth claime the abilitie to makest thou thyn. I have heard talke of his wondrous doings round th' water pumpe and the fishwyfes, particularly goodwyfe whomovedmychocolate to say that hys voice doth maketh them feel tingly withyn their byttes

worketh has mum is blesist

What witchcraft be this

tink thou speaketh in tongues. Thou should knowest better than to be dunking they head in the ale barrel before nones

Alackaday, I feele pustula on chinnes - bubonic or pusse?

Befaddlued in Bedchamber

SlayerofBalloones - syruppe of figges and xenical causeth fouling of the britches.

I feare Sir Paul of McKenna intendes on the whysking off thereof with the maide whomovedmychocolate. I feare he will keepe her in his cow shedde for his own funne, the Eville Sonne of the Devylle.

Let us duck him in the ponde to becalm his ardour then feede him lardycakes to fatten his rumps.

Has anyone yette post'd , by Bill Bailey?

ahh - how the sun doth shine bringing warmth into my heart and a spring into my step - but enough of this idle talk, tis time I made haste - my dear friend Catherine Kiddleston has some more colourful trinkets she would like to bestow upon me - my pantry is now so full of her crap finery it is near bursting. I fear I may have to beseech the help of local woman Edith Baye, a common type, but my hardy nature doth ignore her stench.

I bid thee all a good day.

Dear systers, I am soreley vexed. Having only recently arisen from my pallet comfybed I must relayte these happenyngs. On retyring last evenyng, my lord husbande mentioned a gift. A necklace of pearls no less. Methought he was makyng amends for his poor Yuletide efforts.
Well systers! I must make haste to assure thee that a gift was not uppermost in hys mind!
A most foul venture it was. I am thoroughly ashamed. How shall I pay my husband back for these happenyngs? I feel I must confess to the friar, but am worried I will be branded a harlotte. Prithee what shall I do?

Ye wytches be not burned in these lands; be of good cheere. They be hanged merely, and onely if they be guiltye of maleficium. Ye be peasantes.