Dinner was indeed delayed last night by some two and a half hours. It transpired that the cause of Signor Francatelli's angst was occasioned by one of his assistants putting too much parsley into the Coq au Vin. Unable to remove the offending preponderance of parsley it seems that Signor Francatelli pushed the unfortunate assistant's head into the pot. This caused a brouhaha of some significance which developed into a fist fight. Reports from the kitchen of this encounter suggest that the assistant put up a vigorous defence the like of which the renowned pugilist Mr. Thomas Sayers would have been proud, I would have liked to have seen this divertissement.
Following this contretemps Signor Francatelli was left with a severely blackened eye and a tendency to walk unsteadily. When dinner did finally arrive it was as usual cold, though not due to the 'incident' but due to the fact that the kitchen is over 100 yards from the dining room.
My attempts to keep reports of the unfortunate shooting of the urchin quiet seem to have failed. A stable girl from the town has informed me that the urchin's family are muttering darkly and swearing oaths of allegiance to the Fenian cause. It seems that I will have to go ahead with my plan for a 'Peasants' Festival' after all. Tomorrow I will make plans for what I believe you now call a barbecue.
I will have to go now as Mr. Brown is banging on my window and screaming something about the Highland Clearances, you're not laying that one at my door Mr. Brown. Stupid man.
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