The phenomenon is easy to explain. When I am “busy” with the Dairy work, a half hour stolen to write to you is a pleasant relaxation, a chance to think of nice things in the midst of dull ones, and a chance to be me, but when I am not busy with those things I am busy with my own creative writing, and then I work harder and enjoy it, and find it difficult to think hard of anything else or to chatter idly, as a good letter should be. See ?

                        Glad you are better, I wish Jack would mend so quickly. He’s very weak still and has a lot of leeway to make up. Dear man, I was very worried and scared. Anyhow, he is definitely convalescent and his grand constitution will soon put him right.

                        Will you please date your letters ? I get mixed.

                        The only evening I seem to have is Tuesday, because a Dairy-Farmer must be written this month somehow, and I darenot refuse. I have to miss the Fantasticks rehearsal on Monday and a show on Thursday, its terrible, the last rehearsal before the show, but it must be. Could Tuesday be our evening ? Would you come here ? Seven or half past ?

                        I shall be in all day I hope. I’ve put the orchestra off, because of the work, because I might have to work after all. But all being well, I’ll be here. So if you hear nothing, and you will hear nothing, come up. Say which bus I am to meet.

                        This is a tiny letter, because I have my Carla Beck advert to write, and want to polish off two articles for the Post and one for the Dairymaid and I’m going to the Brookes at five o’clock. But I’m not writing a little because I like you only a little, And I wouldn’t say Shoo be off and I love your pen pictures of the Lodgers, and we shall soon meet Victor who is as eager to meet you as you are to meet him, and I did go home last week-end and did two crosswords all day and took Nunk for a rainy ramble. My love to your mother and to you, and what-ho for Tuesday. . .