This the great egg eater reporting from a little ol’ island at the end of the Med on the left hand side. How are you my pet, looking forward to your holiday I bet (poetry!)
The past week has been pretty fair in many ways. First and most important was a charming ‘little’ letter plus some very attractive photographs from a certain young lady from Dagenham.
I don’t think I can reproach myself at all. I said all I had planned to. Maybe it was a half-hearted attempt but I was only trying to let him down lightly and make him say the final words. This gets worse and worse.
This is that man of yours attempting another masterpiece, says he. Maureen, did I ever tell you that you are beautiful? Well, darling, you are. And after these very original lines I’ll continue.
You know for a girl who says she hasn’t much to write about, you wade through a hell of a lot of pages, tell me dear, what is your secret? Perhaps you drink Horlicks with a dash of gin, immediately before retiring for the night/morning or something.
Michael came to the house as arranged but in a worse state than expected. He was cycling to work this morning when a lorry, with a plank overhanging the side, overtook him and knocked him off his bike. He was taken to Oldchurch Hospital, patched up and sent home. He still looked pretty shaken up when I saw him.