Dearest Diary,
Were it not for the brisk walk about the lake this evening, I would be quite exhausted and not fully able to write to you at present. On the contrary, I am still very alert and anticipating another hour or so before I might retire. The weekly hymnsing returns in the morning and I've yet to finish preparations for the event. I am also in search of a favourite pillow that went missing last evening and left me with a less than satisfactory night's sleep. It must be recovered or I fear the schoolchildren will be the victims of the countenance an unrestful night gives one like myself.
Another item of note arrived this evening as I dined in the company of a friend. She received post that there is an unusual establishment that begs to open in less than a fortnight and we have been invited to attend. I am curious what sorts of guests might frequent such a place and needless to say I have great hope that the gentleman I seek might be among its lot. I cannot see the harm in attending in order to settle my curiosity. It has been said that it is most inspiring. I expect to find it as such.
But that is on a Saturday, not tomorrow...
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