I'm going through a patch of technology trouble at the moment which has left me yearning for the good old days when life was less complicated and the language more colourful...
Pray welcome, good gentlefolk.
Forsooth this cursed machine is so temperamental it might turn a man's brain to curds. Such is my frustration I have hence forsaken all modern instrumentation. Likewise have my utterances regressed to the language of yore.
Pray address your remarks in the appropriate manner of learned gentry. Thou canst hail loudly in the general direction of the shire of Nottingham, direct your missive by carrier pigeon or transport such documents via stagecoach.
Gadzooks! The first option is surely effective if standing atop a bell tower within sight of the highway known in these parts as M1. Only select the second if said bird is sound of wing. The latter is most likely to succeed but may perchance take up to three days.
I am told I must expend up to four hundred Guineas to replace this infernal contraption. What thinkst thou? Stap me vitals! I wouldst sooner allow my wife to find gainful employment in the local whorehouse than waste my hard-earned wealth.
I must away now to partake of my lunch of stewed rodent. Then I must toil about my duties - berate my wife for her spendthrift ways, beat the servants for their indolent conduct and abuse my neighbours for lack of breeding and deficiency of wit.
May your quills stay sharp and your ink be as black as my heart.
Until the morrow.