I am in bed. It's dark and windy and raining. Have you ever been to Haworth? It's where the Bronte sisters lived and where Emily wrote Wuthering Heights. One of the best and most haunting love stories, in my opinion. I'm thinking about when Cathy dies and visits Heathcliff as a ghost, tapping on his window as he sleeps. It has the kind of gothic darkness I like and which seemed popular at that time. Think of mary Shelleys Frankenstein. They both have a rawness about them which is affecting. Haworth is on the moors, is windswept and wet. It's very atmospheric and beautiful. We should go. It will be a nice antidote to the cloying sweetness of Euro Disney. There is also a hangmans gibbet at a place called Elsdon, near where I was born. It's out on the moors. A fake head hangs from it. I wish you were here. Or I was there distracting you with my bosoms. I'd sit on your knee and make you hold them in both hands.