...and then Sarah at work gave me this book.
She said: Oh Marion, this looks like one for you, and left the volume on my desk, as slim as hope, with its buff paper cover peppered with little hearts for all the world like a schoolgirl's textbook. And the title?
The Love Letters of Famous Men
Inside, in case you're a bit dense and haven't managed to keep up, these are short excerpts from the love letters of Pliny the Younger and Henry VIII (to Anne Boleyn who must have sort of wished she had just slept with the ugly old devil instead of hanging out for the white dress, though hanging may not be quite the best verb, chop-chop) - all full of longing and devotion.
And if I scroll back through my mobile phone, what do I have? Yep - a text message that says: I like your *.
Ah, the silver tongued modern man.
You can't live without them, and you can't shoot them in the head.
