It's icy cold outside and we're driving through the country roads on the border of Cambridgeshire and Essex. We've been to a quiz in Thaxted, which we won comprehensively. I'm with Philippa, Helen and Nathan and the quiz has been a sort of unofficial birthday party for Helen. My Mum provided a lovely cake, which we ate in front of an open fire with tea in porcelain cups. The perfect setting for a high tea.
The highlight of the evening was probably the moment that Philippa and I both realised that we'd a) lost the ability to write and b) the ability to count and add up. Tears were rolling down our faces as our deep ineptitude began to reveal itself. It's frightening to think how little I write these days. My handwriting has completely gone to pot, and it starts to hurt if I write for too long! Ah, the curses of 21st Century life!
January 30th, 1660, and Pepys went to Southwark and walked over the fields to Deptford. It was a gloriously sunny and warm day, which Pepys found astonishing. He then went to Blackfriars, and watched three acts of a play, which he enjoyed thoroughly, but it got late, so he left before the end. He went home by boat, through London Bridge.