Tyding Joins a Breakfast Club

Dearest Journal,
 
The most wonderful thing has happened! This morning, as I've done for the past 468 days, I awoke, dragged on a semi-fresh smock (GamGam, remind me to ring the inn's laundress tomorrow), and stumbled downstairs for what passes for brekkie at this dreadful tavern grandmummy insists I live. (Why can't we stay at this Dog's Bollocks place I keep hearing about instead, Gammy? It is...? Are you certain...? The Different Dog's Bollocks? How uncouth!) In any case, it's not so much that I had forgotten about the new friends I'd made (they are an odd-looking group after all), it's just that I was simply so terribly accustomed to eating alone. I don't know that I can describe the elation I felt seeing them all there ordering. Let's just say that during our repast, I was nearly able to drink the tea without weeping.
 
We had barely finished gnawing the last of our bread (I daresay the kitchen seems more cursed than the stage) when the ghost of a slain bard came out of the stage and proceeded to make a real nuisance of itself. One of its spectral spotlights actually burned me! (No, I will not let it go! ...It hurt! Well...no, but it could have left a mark! It could have easily!) After we vanquished the angry spirit, there was some exposition which led us to another angry ghost and some unruly children. Friend Moes exorcized that spirit by flinging firepots all around it. At first, I was alarmed at how cavalierly he tossed burning pitch in a house full of children, but so accurate was the magnificent oaf that not only did his pottery start no fires, they never even landed near anything flammable!
 
More exposition followed and the jigsaw-person agreed to babysit once a fortnight or something (better they than us, wot wot, Gam?) and we returned to the Doggy Door for dinner and some much needed meditation. I'm fairly certain I heard Fonzie (who might become anemic if he continues to bleed so much every day) trying to charge his dinner to my room, but no matter! Breakfast will cure all, sweet journal. Brekkie will cure all.
 
Until next I we meet, my bookish chum! I remain,
 
TG