I have today come upon a stash of letters i had not previously looked at for some time - letters to me from my father. There are a lot of them. With one or two exceptions they are all hand-written. He had a very attractive, expansive hand - lots of space and fluency - nothing crabbed or tight. Anyway, reading through them I am reminded not just how funny he was - I never need to be reminded of that, actually, nor of how kind he was - that too I am always aware of - but how very nice a father he was. I'm not sure I can elucidate on that, other than to say that it is a kind of sweeetness I taste in reading these old letters, written chiefly between 1977 and 1985. I wish I'd relished that more at the time, but one never does - or rather i am never very sensitive in that respect. Anyway I hope to put one or two into the book.
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