Mimosa Pudica

I'm back in London feeling wiped-out, stuffy-nosed and slightly jet-lagged. My bank's just called to tell me there's been some fraudulent activity on my account, something to do with florists in Russia, so I won't be able to use my card for about a week. Boo!


Today is about taking things easy. I'm hoping my brother Edward, Sascha and Hilary will be coming over later for food and Dancing On Ice, but if not, I'll simply curl up on my sofa and try to convince myself that it’s not 5 hours earlier than I think.

March 7th 1660, and Pepys was bustling about all day. He covered huge distances by foot all the way from St James’ Park in the West to the Eastern edge of the city of London and met a bewildering array of people. He was beginning to feel that he was right in the middle of things; people were asking for his advice and generally swarming around him and he was loving every minute.

Today's entry provides us with an early glimpse of Pepys-the-inquisitive, the man who would become obsessed with science and technology and end up as president of the Royal Society. On this occasion, Pepys met up with Mr Lynes, the surgeon, who promised him some seeds so that he could grow a “sensitive plant”, probably a Mimosa, which had fascinating leaves which curled up or temporarily dropped upon being touched or shaken. They’d have been imported, probably from the Caribbean and were about to become all the rage. Here's what wiki has to say on the subject.

It was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, and Pepys noted that people across the city were eating fish dinners. The puritans had abolished fasting for lent, so perhaps the people refraining from meat were actually making a political rather than religious statement.

Later in the day, Pepys went to the wonderfully named Popes Head Alley, which was a road just off Cornhill and the London centre for the sale of cutlery and toys. In Adam Chard’s shop he bought a catcall, which cost two groats (four English pennies) see here.

A catcall was a whistle-like instrument that produced a cat-like cry which was used for expressing disapproval at the theatre. Perhaps Pepys was planning a guilt-laden trip to a play, or maybe he brought it to irritate his wife’s troublesome dog, which avid readers of this blog, will remember arrived on February 8th.

In the evening, Pepys met up with his father, who had returned from their country cottage at Brampton, near Montagu’s estate in Huntingdon. He brought the news that Pepys’ Uncle Robert was gravely ill. Something had gone very wrong with his leg and if he died it looked likely that Pepys would inherit his estate.