Dot writes: yesterday evening I read Hugh A Tale of Two Bad Mice for his bedtime story, and he was very taken with the little mouse babies in their cradle and pretended to be pulling them around behind him on a blanket. “I got baby mice,” he said. “They’re so sweet.” He likes to tell stories that start “Once upon a time” (not sure where got that – none of the stories I read him use the formula) and then usually introduce a BIG dragon with SCARY TEETH and then become rather hard to understand but involve jumping around and making loud noises, which I suppose has a certain logic to it. On other occasions his train of thought is harder to follow. This morning he came into us very well rested (7.20! my goodness!), smiled sweetly, and announced “I killed my father.” “No,” we said, “your Daddy is alive; look, here he is.” “I died,” he continued, in a dramatic tone. “I died this morning. In the garden. I broke my foot and I need a plaster.” He was, on the whole, in a very good mood.