(no subject)

Wele, with the fest of yestreday complet, Christmasse is now ydonen. Alle aren ful seke, as caudell and wine and cockale and ypocras and wessail and sydere haven been oure sustenaunce for manye a day. The metes laste night did helpen to settle oure stomackes some, however, and redied us ayain for solid fodder.

For Christmasse, I got ful manye godely giftes of pannes and disshes of gold, and a forke of golde eke (Wist I nat forwhy any man woulde given me a forke of golde, oonly hethenes ete with swych ungodly thynges what lack in dignitee.) For my Johne, I stiched up a bagge with an image of a licourn and a swan, and I boughte Ninja Turtles for alle my childeren.

The Plauntagenets have wonne ayain at the yeres Christmasse drinkyng tourney. (Those are grete men and long, so they may drink mower in a sete than moost men in a day.) Ever sin Le Prince Noir hath deyed, and Kinge Edward eke, my Johne is ever the conqueror and even his brothors who come in neightest, Thomas and Edmund, are left sleeping in the hay. Lite Johne sought to be alyk to his father, and yet he oonly managed to grow very very seke and dronke, and to find a maid to tend him who was nat in lyk state was nat a task of ese! (Some say maides should nat drink to swych a state, but I say swive that, hit is Christmasse, where Jesu would all men and maides alyke be drunk. For what othor thyng is done to celebrate a birth?) I could nat tend him myselfe; I was too drunke.

I spoke wyth Lady Wake, who is the maid to some of Johnes othor childeren (I am maid to Kataline al oone, and to myn own because I am nat nooble enough to have myn own maides, though Hugh was a knight) and she said "Merde alors! Hit is nat yete Terce and I am dronke!" And I sayd "Me to, for hit is left over from last night." And hit was mower jolly when thou were there.

And so the dronken revelrie ywent, lyk eche yere. The pesauntes we let in the Savoy were nat too villainous and mad, and did nat set no thyng aflame nor swyve thynges which oughte hem nat, so hit was trim fun for alle.

(no subject)

I watche ynow a recitacioun of the tale cleped Numb3res, which be a paine to pronownce. I am dronken on caudell, as I have been for manye a dey (Jhone hath been passed out in dronkenesse for a weke -- that is my sonne Johne, who is nere X yeres elde and wele mote knowe these thynges, nat grete Johne) and sayth me -- man! Numb3res succeth!

Eke, some man wisshed me a Joyous Newe Yer. What the helle? New yere be nat til Marche! Geffrey hath had WAYYY too muchel to drinke, and certes Philippe shal soon tell me all abouten.

Desertes to Constanze

On yestre dey, I was ydronk with caudell whan that bytch Constaunze came to me and creyed “M’aide! Mon chien est malade!” and I quod, “Yis, certes a bytch as the would care for thyn hounde so,” but then I quod in Frensshe, whych she may actually speke, “Belle et bonne; que vouillez vos?” Then she sayth we mote take hit to a leche. I telle hir, I thinke my Johnes leche est esvanide, and she telleth she wist as muche, and thus she nede helpe forto taken the beeste to a carte that we may find another leche who be nat so dronke. Mayhaps in hethen Spanye they doe nat know man may nat find a leche in Engeland who is nat fordrunken at Cristmasstide, becausen the Spanyardes aren all forswoken with swiving hir sibbes megesseth. And then she sheweth me an hound what hath snutt yronnen from hits nase in swych degree that hit maketh vastes lakes upon the ground, and then the beeste cogheth. Then she (Constanze) gan to speken hir hethen speke, something like “pobrocanne” and the dogge noysed as yf hit were vomitinge, but ne was it ydoe of no swych dede.
So, I felt a lite badde for thyse hounde, as to be Constanzes would nat be badd enogh. And I sayd “D’accord; qu’allons.”
Then the dogge puked full upon hir lappe and deyed.

On thyse dey, my childeren haven timbred up a manne of sneow.

(no subject)

Whan I have nat partoke of so muchel licoure, I shal update, for there have been manye thinges of what to speken. A, there be XII dayes of Cristmasse, so Godde aloon wist whan that shal be that I have has so lite a drink.

(no subject)

How! Hey! Thyse dey was the feste of Seint Katherine, and here folweth my loote:

I panne of golde
I disshe of golde
I wok of golde from Chine
I coffer of metes from the abbye of Flavigny
II chaus (I payre) of the chaucier famows, Manole Blank

My Johne set oute for all the house a feste of fair fode, and lots of ale and wyne and Ypocras. I listed nat forto getten dronke, so I dranke but thre boteils of wyne with my mete and a cask of Ypocras, but would I had toke mower.

I asked the curyiers for her receipts, that I might make hem in my newe disshes, and here are some:

I. Take flower and berm and eyroun and some sugre powdered finli and some milke and gode seedes, the betest thow mighte. Rub hem togetheres with buttyr and whan it is in the manere of a toord in thikenesse, thow shal put hem in an ovene until hit be browne. Thyse is cleped "Catte-coffer cake."

Thys mann was swych a retarde of the northe, I knewe nat what he sayd though I go there ful oft:

II. Trutys or barbels or molets and seth them, and when it is half sothen chop hit smal, and take egges (what the helle?) eyren and swyng tham, and put that fisshe with the eyren and fry them in faire grece.

III. Take the heed of an hog and cleve hit the middle ydoun, and put him in a kettle and sethe hit till he be wele sothen, and hits flesshe be namoor on the boones. Chop the flesshe and thou shall have the licour with salt and powdour, and some erbes, and make hit thike with floure. Sethe thyse agayn, and put hit in oyl till hit be crunchie.

IV. Take bred; frye hit in grece or yn oyle. Put hit yn rede wyne and grynde hit with reysons, and draw hit. Claryfye honye with gleyr of eyron and watyr; scom hit clene and put hit to that othir. Do therto clovys, macez, and gynger mynsed and good poudyr and salt. Loke hit be stondyng, and floresch hit with annes in confite.

V. Take Jellow that is flavoured with limmones grenes, and put thereto blood puddynge and put aquavite therin. Meld thys all togethres and give mo aquavite to the gestes.

VI. Take orenges or limmons pilled, and cutte hem alle the long way, and if thow may keepe thy clowes hwole and put hem in to thy beest broth of mutton or capon with pronnes and raysones and three or fowre dates, and when thise have beene well sodden put hwole pipper, grete mace, a good peece of suger, and some rose watter, and either white or claret wine, and let all thise seeth together a while, and so serve it upon soppes with your capon.



I love my newe pottes! And my chaus!

(no subject)

O, I have spoken to some "psychotics" as methinketh be the terme in use, on the mattir of a certain swevene which giveth me grete concern. A nowe, from hem I receyve gretely quanities of "Newes-Lettres" eche dey, tellyng me how some man did onys putte hys babe upon a rofe, and leve him in tys place; then as the man wente wey, he thought the babe was in peril 'as yf by sorcerie' and lo! He wente and found the babe aboute to falle, and syn thys day he hath been charging silver for hys psychotic serves.

HERE BE THE SWEVENE WHICHE DOTH TROBLE MY BRAIN

I saugh in feld thre cowes, ower sexe -- I have nat certaintie. Alle but oon flewe away, (yis, flewe -- thys semed a natural thyng in the dreme) and thys last cow was moost sadde. I told him we should loke for hys companye, and I toke him by the heltre. We walket, til the yvele Hoor of Babylyn apererd in ower wey, and quod "Ha ha, Katherine, thou shalt neevere get to Johne!!! And thy cow shall become mete!!! METE!!!!" I was ful destressen, so I toke oute a mitrailleuse and shot hir XXXXVII times (I thinke.) She yet was atwtche, so I bete hir to deeth with the gunne as she cried, then I stomped upon hir covrechief. She stille would nat deye, so I kikked his till she did nat move ayain. "Et bien tres bien, Cow -- we must hide thys bodie in the cesspoole er Johne should to thys mattir wisse-uppe!" The Cow toke hir heed within hys teth and I toke her by the fett.
Sin thys was the Hoor of Babylyn and I had cized Domesday by hir morder, I did nat feel badde about any of thys. We went to sinken hir in the rivire (now we were to put hir in a rivere, megesseth.) Whan she hit the watter, she was alyve ayain! I cried and threwe stoons upo hir, but ne dide she deye, and she was faminge blood all about! Then, the nooble cow jumped on hir and drowned hir, but eke, he did qwelle himselfe. (The poure Cow!) I did fele ful sadde for him. Then Richard-Henri le Potier flewe by and sayd "Ay, wherefore dostow nat dreme of me?" and I sayd "Swive thee, I think of other thynges ynow."

WHAT DOETH THYS FOREKNOWE????


O, and I saw this and ywot it were joly:

"Man, bewar of thin wowynge
For weddyng is the longe wo."

(no subject)

A, I doe regret I have nat been mower diligent in my poostynge, a thys be, in some ways, a thynge godelye; for whan I poost hit doth mene oft tides that some thynge badde hath come to passe.

Alle that hath chaunced to be of thyse weke is that my copie of "Sabattum" is ycome.

Joane

Ooo! Joane hath lerned how to walken!
I was a mote mooneful, sin she semed to nat be lyk to, and she is nere tweye yere. I gesse if peraventure she had nat been swaddlen for the whool tyme, thys mighte nat be, but wistow, when one hath sevene childerenes hit may be a lite toilful forto haven the winde of hem alle.

Hit was Kateline who did first see the dede ydon. She shal make a mothor faire one day; hit is but a pitee she is Constanzes doghtour. She was boored and so thought to Joane might lyk to be unswaddelen a while, and neightest thow knowest, she hath taughten hir to walken! I am ful joyeuse, as nowe all my childen may walken. I made my welsnuttes famows in feste.

Yet, that bytche Constaunze hath done a grand damage! She and my Johne are togetheres ynow, and Johne wist nat of hys doghtoures werke. Mayhaps hit be time forto seke to morder hir ayein.

Constaunze is swych a bitche!

Constanze hath, on thyse dey, drinken the last caudell! I listed to drinken the last caudell, a no! She dide suffre nede forto haven hit hir foule selfe! May she be made seke of hit, and be able nevere ayain foto drinken swych a licour.
Certes, I may make mower caudell ower have the cokes doon swych dede, but hit be the mattir that Constaunze should drinke the last caudell and nat freyne yf othre menn miyt wanten anye.

So in stede of hit I krakked a boteil of meede and have drinken thre of hem, and meneth me to drinke hem alle! That shal shewe hir!

(no subject)

Thankes to the appelles horribles, my teth haven torned to rot. Hit is the keeleness of appelles whych doth rotten tethe, aft ale, and make hem yful with wormes. And I doe nat care yf Hildegarde was a seint, hir remedye maketh no fete. I dide abide ful long as I might, in hoope that the stabberye in my muth might goon wey, but no. So I hadde to go to the blake-smith to haven mi tethe ycuren.

I sat, and he quode: "Noble leedye, yow wist that yow may deyen from thyse?" and I sayde "Swiven hit, I would deye before lessynge my tethe to felen so!" So I satte ydoun and he gan to bete me wyth a poker on the hede until I became sleepye. Whan I woke, my toth was gone, and sin hit was so grevelees, I gave to the smith a gode coyne for his werke.

So here I be, abedde so I maye gaine my might ayain.