Wednesday June 14th, 1719
Oh woe is me! Alas and alack! What is one to do? Being tossed all day and all night, was not one's idea of making a decent living. On the waves, that is.
If it hadn't been for Binky Large-Trustfundington catching one in flagrante delicto with Nancy Rancid-Puce at the Debs' Ball, and threatening to sue one for breach of promise, one would still be firmly ensconced with Mummy and Daddy at Hoppings Hall. Well, no. It wasn't so much the lawsuit - Daddy can afford it - so much as Binky's brother Chunky threatening to flog one within an inch of one's life if he ever caught one that settled it.
One couldn't even bring one's Man, Jarvis. Even if he wanted to, which he didn't, he had a note from his doctor to say that he was excused sea-duties due to his bandy legs. So, on top of everything else, one has to dress oneself. How unutterably tedious. One asked Jim the cabin boy if he would deputise for Jarvis until one could appoint another valet, but he told one to sling one's hook (except he didn't put it as nicely).
Nobody in one's family cares anyway. When one told Mummy one was running away to sea, all she said was "To see what?" Daddy didn't even look up from the Whitehall Evening Post. And one is missing the Hunt Ball next month.
One supposes one could jump ship at the next port. One hears there is some rather delicious tottie on the Pacific islands. One could imagine setting up home with a dusky maiden or two. One might even start a new branch of the Ascott-Pendergasts. Imagine a few blue-blooded piccaninnies running around the place. One could teach them to hunt. Except one suspects there is a shortage of foxes on those islands. Ah well. It would pass one's time pleasantly until one's inheritance comes in.
One needs to make an escape plan.
(Hon.) Fluffy Ascott-Pendergast