Today, most unusually, Biddles fussed, and fussed, and fussed…I think the milk was NOT to her liking….I have not had a minute all day, and I am tired! So..no write-worthy thoughts occur to me, except the attraction of that bed upstairs…but she’s smiling up at me so sweetly and cooing…

I need to record these epitaphs:

Here lies John Bunn He was killed by a gun His name was not Bunn, but Wood.. But Wood would not rhyme with “gun”.. And “Bunn” would.

Here lies a man who was killed by lightning He died when his prospects seemed to be brightening. He might have cut a flash in this world of trouble… But the flash cut him….and he lies in the stubble.