Dear Daphne

Sunday 14th June, 2009.

Herewith what I am bound to call a Whimbook, bought as a half thought to mark a halfbirthday, an institution of your own creation, brought about because I was one half of a couple of half wits being half hearted about the ludicrous prospoect [sic] of a small being having to endure a full birthday imminently near to Christmas, itself a ludicrous yet appealing to small childs.

And now you are a mummy to a whiskery hound (oh! were it a boxer!).

So, to a book. And what better than a big chunk of John Steinbeck? Worth little but for Charlie. When Jack is old and gray, as his grandad, also old and gray whilst you still bloom, you may dip deeper into Steinbeck, and if you can manage it, Fitzgerald.

If you don’t like this, a final attempt to lure you away from grisly pursuits e.g., golf and dusting, give the book to The Sea Wolf (who hates me). He to chew it.

If he does I trust he’ll be SICK!

ps (also dear)

John,

feel free to read one half of it, but do so before young Fang gets at it.

Old Ian

x

Old Daddy

xxx