Out with the New, In with the Old?

Samuel Pepys begins his blog on New Year's Day 1660 with an introduction to himself, his family, and his world...

I am one of the luckiest men alive – mainly because I am alive. It’s nearly two years since several men held me down while Mr Thomas Hollier successfully removed a stone the size of a tennis ball from the underside of my merry member.

Today, I am a healthy man of 26 years, living in Axe Yard with my wife of four years – Elisabeth, herself aged 19. With us is Jane, our maidservant of two years. It’s just us three – though until recently, we thought we might have a new addition. Elisabeth felt sure “the officers had left to fetch the king,” so to speak – but, on the last day of the year, “Parliament was back in session.”

Speaking of Parliament, the Rump has returned – not the one our late Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell cooked up, but the one Lord Lambert dismissed for turning against our latest Lord Protector, Oliver’s son Richard. Lord Lambert thinks he should be the new ki–

Sorry, Lord Protector. We don’t do kings in England anymore. His Lordship made that perfectly clear when he suppressed the uprising last year, when Mr Booth fought to get the late King Charles’ son onto a restored throne.

As I write, Lord Lambert has gone north to muster support – but there are whispers that General Monke, commander of the army in Scotland, might have his own designs on the English thr–

Protectorship! Ah, it’s so hard changing old ways! Still – it’s been almost 10 years since our last civil war, so we probably are due another one.

I jest, of course. Everyone I know expresses a desire for a free and full Parliament, with all the seats filled with members doing what’s right for the country. It’s just that people seem to disagree over what is right for the country. An inherent flaw in this ‘Democracy Project’, perhaps? Even the late Lord Oliver Cromwell gave up, and instead elected himself ki–

I mean, Lord Protector…

Personally, I give Democracy another ten months, tops.

Anyway. My own private condition looks very handsome – at least on the outside. I’m seen as rich, because I live in fancy quarters – one of the benefits of my job as a clerk for the Exchequer. But with everything going on in Parliament, my job is by no means certain. After all, my master – Mr Downing – is streets away from being a man of real significance himself.

I intend to help him get there, though – ideally to the benefit of my own purse along the way…

I would love to know your thoughts! Which do you favour more, King or Rump? War or Peace? Shakespeare or Marlowe…? Please –

…and I promise I shan’t report you to the authorities…