Dearest Diary, Day twenty:

Toast cool at breakfast. Believe Cotter may be sulking.

In the afternoon, Snipe, the new groundsman, found old Bates and silly old Nanny Bates hanging in the coppice. Dr. Croaker declared it a 'Suicidal Compact borne of acute Melancholia'. One cannot imagine what overcame them. Must be all this beastly war business.

Cotter delighted by his new rocking chair, once he'd brushed the leaves off. This seems to have rejuvenated his spirits. Every cloud, what?

Father has allowed them to be buried in the grounds, alongside dear old Mr. Pringles. A finer ratter has yet to be sired.

Bad news today: Drinks at the club are up a ha'penny.