Mother tells me you've been learning some poems, and that reminds me of the time when you were learning "The Eve of St. Mark."2 We've had the kind of spring here that is described in that poem. Cold, drizzly, foggy, torpid, soggy, aguish, windy--everything that mother doesn't like. And not much heat in the houses, so she'd have been freezing. However the weather began to look a little better today. You asked whether my cold was still following me around like a shadow. It was about the worst cold I ever had, but it's about gone now. I'm glad you're over "peek-eye" as you called it. And I'm glad you're learning to skip rope. If you ever want to be a prize-fighter that will be invaluable.
It's getting later and later here. Twenty minutes past eleven. That means it's twenty minutes past five where you are. Why, you haven't even had dinner yet. And where Alan is it's only twenty minutes past two. 3 That's ridiculous. Demi-morale has just had lunch. Alan is still working at Warner Brothers. And here I'm thinking of going to bed. Maybe I'd better write to Alan first. I haven't written to him yet.
Goodnight, Hesper darling. Daddy
[ London] May 18, 1
I've been in such confusion lately that I haven't tried to write. Anything I can say about my plans would change within hours--and by the time I sat down to tell you something it was no longer the case. Saturday your two cables came, saying you'd given up coming over for