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.