Though should mine Wyffe fall ill, I would be forced to travel far and wide to find another of the womanly sex to foist the child onto post-haste. As a man, I should not be expected to deliver care, sustenance &c to a youngling alone. A preposterous notion indeed!

A saddening sight indeed.

A fine Thredde from a man of wit and intelligence. My humble thanks to you, Sir.

This blazing sun doth cause a yearning for the smothering smogs of times past. Once furnish’d with periwig, doublet, jerkin and hose, my face doth resemble a beetroot by midday, and Mrs Pepys shall likely rebuff mine amorous advances citing excessive sweat, stench and grime.

It would bring me great joy for a quote such as this to be erroneously attributed to Mister Pepys c.1665.

I hath fashioned a poem, musing upon events of late concerning that scoundrel, Mister Cummings.

I hath been silent of late, musing heavily upon the somber tidings that hath harried the nation as readily as the sickness. Daily, the news doth adorn the briars o’the plague with yet more unhappy spikes, but I hath hopes we shall emerge better fellows for it.

As the taverns prepare to furnish the masses with drams and vittles once more, I notice my words of less recent times hath been resurrected. Though the plague abates, they ring no less true to mine ears, so I shall shutter myself inside to endure the prating of Mrs Pepys.

Someone is writing about 2020 in the style of Pepys. It is done rather well but is not him: pepysdiary.com/news/2020/03/2…

Though I am mortally afeared of the plague, I hath begun to ponder whether Mrs Pepys might be persuaded out of doors betimes, and thence to a tap house at cock’s crow. Deep in her cups by noon, I warrant I might persuade her she hath the wrong lodgings on her return.

Yegads! Word hath reached me from a gentle-fellow of my acquaintance that National Geographic hath placed my words in the mouth of the other Pepys. In troth, I mean not to deceive, yet urge my fellow men of letters to take to Google before taking up their quills. nationalgeographic.com/newsletters/hi…

Might I urge those with a stomach for the truth to take a turn to Samuel Pepys, where thou shalt uncover words quilled in the year 1665, and fewer musings upon my Wyffe’s love of Nando’s.

I hath fashioned myself a new portrait, that the populace might know I am a modern man of letters. I hope this hath cleared things up a bit.

I doff my wig to the creator of my splendid new background image. I know not who made it, but would like to seek them out and clap them about the back in thanks.

Q. What do these two have in common? A. Samuel Pepys didn’t write either of them! The Secret Diary of Samuel Pepys, aged Ten & Three Quarters, by Julian Dutton - available now at ye knock-down price of half a sovereign! amazon.co.uk/Secret-Diary-S…

Mrs Pepys hath fashioned me a mask from one of her stockings, yet with salons shuttered up, her trotters are as gnarled as a tree stump - frightful things to behold indeed. I hath concluded I should rather take my chances wi’ the plague.

Happily, I hath a notion that a mask purchased during the last plague may still be in my possession, and shall seek it out i’the loft. Though cumbersome, it furnishes the wearer with the added delight of frighting my Wyffe’s dentures clear from her rattletrap.

Saddened indeed to read that the laying low of our elderly was perhaps their carers’ doing, the noble Mister Johnson clear of any blame. Would that they, in the words of Mister Rees-Mogg, had simply used “common sense” and devised a strategy of their own to confound the plague!

Happy publication to 📚Rosie 📚 and the brilliant THE TIME OF MY LIFE. I'm pretty sure nothing will overshadow her debut book launch.