How much patience have you ?  I am about to test it to the utmost, for the worst has happened. Thursday is Off, and Wednesday and Friday.  Its damnable, but inevitable.  I’ll explain.

                        Before Christmas  a Dairy-Farmer has to be written, and  I can’t afford to  refuse a seventeen pound  job of work in my perilous financial state !  Today I went to the office to consult with Eileen how it shall be done. We studied the calender and saw that decks must be cleared for action. It is work which can only be done away from the office, where thought, cigarettes and bursts of alternating argument and coordinated activity can be indulged in without let or hindrance. So we have discovered that we must start full steam ahead. Tomorrow she comes here at half past five  and we plan  it out.  On Thursday I go to her home at four o’clock, and we work that evening, I stay the night, we work all day Friday and Friday night, I stay Friday night,  and we return to Birmingham on Saturday morning,  me to here she to the office. Its bloody, because I have mornings free, and in hours plenty of  time. But it is evening, or rather, peace and quietness  work. I hate it, but as it is it must be.
Now,  what are your reactioons ?  Pretty fierce towards me I fear; but your sense of justice will pity me rather than blame me. I am very fed up, because I was looking forward to a peaceful companionable evening by the fire, with Halle music in the background. But we must enjoy an evening next week more. Next week will be pretty full as  well, of course, but I am willing to let the Fantasticks get on without me on Monday evening if that  is any use to you. It means waiting until Monday because I must go home this week-end, I’ve missed three running and its a bit mean on my Mama, and there are no possible Sunday trains. I will find out if I can possibly get one Sunday morning,  and if I can perhaps we can frolic on Saturday,  It could start earler, that would be nicer. But, if you won’t scorn me for good, would you sympathise with absent me this week, and keep an evening next week ? It’s a shame when you are coming back from London specially early and if you only knew how I’d be looking forward to your arrival. But one must live, and if I were a sea-cook it would be far worse, wouldn’t it  ?
Being cooped up with poor forlorn Eileen every evening is far from a joke, my nerves get all up on end, and I grow to hate her furry voice, but she can’t help it, and if the work is to be done, well, I must lump it and remember that there is good companionship and comfort ahead, if it is postponed to Monday or Thursday.
Of course, our plans always go awry and if they do and I have a free evening, I’ll write at once hoping you too are free.  Tomorrow might be free, but I doubt it. I’ve forgotten the name and the phone number of your firm, would you remind me of it, so that I can telephone you if a chance does occur.  It might, though the chance is but slender.
So, Betty mio, be charitable, forgive my damnable unreliability, and remember that “This hurts me more than it hurts you”.
Will you escort me to your opus in the Society of Artists exhibition next week ?  I’d like to see it.  Perhaps I’ll go alone first, which would you rather?
Probably a letter will come from you tomorrow, full of agreement for Thursday !  I’ll squirm as I read it if that is my fate.
‘Til Monday then, unless the Fates are kind and I can find an evening suitable also unto you.  Meanwhile, my love and sympathise with my lot.  I wish you were free in the mornings too, though it would be a dud time for the amenities of the fireside  !