Fond greetings, dear Reader. I must apologise once more for a lengthy absence - I have not been well of late.
My partner has discovered a secondary tumour in my throat. Be not alarmed - I continue well, buoyant, and pain-free. In fact, I am better than when I last barked to you - but 'tis only fair to inform you that my partner and I have been investigating local funeral parlours. We have settled upon a respectable local firm and, together, chosen a casket; an exquisite traditional English wood, as stout and true as my heart. It has been set aside for me for when the time comes, but who can say when it shall be needed? Perhaps in the next few weeks - or yet perhaps not for the next few months nor years. I have already exceeded my surgeons' forecasts and continue to thrive. So let us cast away, for now, such gloomy thoughts and be of good cheer. It IS nearly Christmas, after all!
The reason for the minor improvement in my health is that my snout-tumour burst open approximately ten days ago. "Urrrgh!" I hear you cry - well, yes and no. I am somewhat outwardly scarred, though my partner's early diligence in tending to the wound has meant that it is healing nicely. But - oh! - the exquisite relief! The bursting and subsequent seepage relieved the pressure on my snout enormously, with the results that the lump is about one-third of the size it was at its worst point and my breathing is much eased.
I am glad to report this progress, for my illness has taken a great toll on my partner. One night recently, I awoke at around 3.00am to find her on her knees beside me, wailing in anguish, pleading and begging - literally begging - God to save me; to take the tumour from my snout and put it into her own. She has also been volunteering madly for every local good cause, for example, in addition to signing up for The Cinnamon Trust, she has also spent this afternoon at the local church, doing activities for children, and is giving up her Christmas Day to prepare and serve Christmas Dinners to residents of local home for the elderly. All this, in the hope that it might buy me a few extra months of continued existence. But none of us can change the fates - each of us has a pre-ordained beginning and a pre-ordained end. I am content in mine, secure in the knowledge that I am loved, valued and appreciated by those I hold most dear. And, if you are reading this, I extend this to include you my friend.
Incidentally, for those of you not repulsed by the idea, would you like to know what a tumour, burst and laid open for all to witness, smells like? Certainly nothing I would have expected...
Sherbert Lemon. A popular tasty and pleasantly-scented boiled sweet. That is what my tumour smells like. How odd that something so wretched should smell so delightful.
To other matters. Regular readers will be interested (and perhaps not a little relieved) to learn that I have now completed the final instalment of "The Evolution of Jasper" (this being my autobiographical series). I shall share it with you tomorrow - along with the chaos that ensued when I decided to take the advice of a Lady (Miss Till) in respect of promoting my bubble-brained friend Ewan's understanding of the female reproductive system. Never - I repeat - NEVER again. Oh, dear me, no.