Penned in precise and evenly lined sentences, a blank page near the middle of a slightly scuffed, top-grain leather journal is newly inscribed. If one were to flip past the filled pages to the very beginning, one would find the first page titled with: Bernie Tweed, Bree-land followed by a series of odd symbols.
10 Thrimidge
Home, Bree-land.
√ Clean up the house today in case Miss Indoril drops in. I've let things go a fair bit, and something tells me she might not enjoy my indoor ale-bottle garden as much as I do.
← Have not received the case of caramel apple brew from Sanders. This makes me somewhat unpleased. Suppose I should discuss this with him in person. All the better if his wife is home when I arrive.
← Hives looked good this morning on quick check. More maintenance tomorrow.
≡ Had a fair conversation with a baker today about what to serve an elfin guest. She suggested that I prepare something called a 'salade,' which is apparently just a plate of raw vegetables and greens chopped up a bit. Sounds horrid, like something one would feed livestock. But she insisted my special company would enjoy it and that I should serve it with some manner of sweetish sauce called a 'dressing.' Suppose drowning the dish in something with flavour might make it more palatable. I will be preparing my favorite bacon-wrapped steak for my own dinner.
