Hello. How are you?

Yeah, sorry an stuff. It’s been a while. Sorry I haven’t written; I’ve just been going through some things.

No, it’s not you; it’s me. Really. I’d tell you if it were you. I’m not trying to spare your feelings – I don’t like you as much as I like me.

Okay, I’m just saying that to make you feel better. It was you a little bit. Like the time when we went for Chinese and you insisted on using your chopsticks to make a fake moustache, then attempted to drum the Marseillaise on the waiter?

It was you then.

But other than that, it was me.

But baby, it’s different now. I’ll write to you every day. Well, maybe every week. Certainly if I’ve got no-one else to write to; then I’ll almost certainly think about writing to you. Oh, and I’ll write you such sweet things, baby. You’re not going to know what hit you.

Unless it’s a barrage of mice. That’s always a fairly distinctive thing to be hit by.

It’s the “eek”ing you’ve got to look out for.

G’night, baby. I’ll be talking to you soon.


(Just testing)

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