Normally I don’t put in for this diary mumb-jumbo, but maybe for a change Christopher is right. If I can’t talk to someone, I can at least write it down.
That’s sort of like talking, isn’t it?
What do you write in these things anyway?
I have to admit, New Babbage is not quite the place for me. Too cold, too damp, too dirty. But it does have its charming moments. There was a ball a few weeks ago, with people dressed as fine as I’ve ever seen in my life! And, as Goody reminds me, I’m safe here. Or safe as anyone is anywhere.
Christopher has taken over keeping me informed of what’s happening back home. It feels like I write him every day. He writes me less often, but is always encouraging. I don’t talk to him about what it’s like here in New Babbage, I think it will just worry him.
He knows I can’t come home, but talks of it often. Apparently Kitty has been pestering him to try and find a way.
I just can’t see how it’s possible.
A deal is a deal, after all. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive Daniel.
Ever. Can I write that? I suppose no one will see it…
I have acquired a few potted plants, hardy things, and it has occurred to me that my purgatory sentence here in New Babbage might be eased some if I had a garden. So I’m cleaning out that dirty lot and I’m going to try and get something tilled into the ground before everything freezes solid, hopefully come spring I can grow something hardy there. Whatever that may be.
Who knew it could get cold so early! It’s only October!