16th January 1826

(I am now a little recovered from a truly momentous indisposition. I shall, therefore, recount the events of yesterday evening in full.)

Walked to the Adelphi. Looked prime in THE GREAT ARTICLE as I went past all the shop windows. (I did not wait for Sykes. I did not want to embarrass him in his usual shabby outfit). The new waistcoat was much noticed – dare I say, admired – by several superior people on Fleet Street. As Papa often remarks, ‘quality knows quality.’

I made some enquiries after Buckingham Street and discovered that it is a queer little terrace sloping down to the river, not far (not far enough!) from Hungerford Stairs. Forsythe has his own rooms in a narrow little house: a drawing-room, bedroom and pantry; and there is an old woman in the basement who skivvies and cooks for him and another young gentleman lodger in the attic. Forsythe can come and go as he pleases with his own key and says he is often out on the town until 3 o’clock in the morning! He said that he would introduce us to his favourite night haunts, as he was sure we were both a fine and spark-up pair of young dogs! He also told us a good deal about the Minor Emoluments Office – which involves giving out scraps of money to old people in queer places – but that was dull as ditch-water and sounds worse than school.

[note to self: do become playwright.]

Then we got terribly merry.

The food, in brief:

Oysters in abundance! – Mashed Potatoes! – Chops! (blissfully succulent CHOPS!)

The drink, IN LARGE DRAUGHTS:

Sherry! – Champagne!! – Hock!!!

Stumbled back home at some time after midnight. I confess that I dared not eat a solitary thing at breakfast this morning. Papa said that he expected that I had eaten and drunk enough the night before. Then he said it was ‘all the same with these fast young men’ and winked at me. Mama tutted, muttered something about not encouraging me and confiscated his toast as punishment.