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.