Being born is a very peculiar experience. I was just having this lovely dream about my wonderful dark cave that I've got really rather attached to, when I felt this urge to see if there was anywhere else in the world. Out I popped and there he was, staring right at me. A face with lots of black hair, black eyebrows, unnaturally white teeth, an utterly soppy expression on his face and tears in his eyes. Who was this?! Today I met Jeeves. Well, Daddy called him Piers, but I call him Jeeves. He didn't talk baby rubbish like everyone else, instead he said things like 'And how would Sir like his nappy done up today? Traditional classic fit or a little more snug around the middle for Sir perhaps?' It was very refreshing. I resolved to ask him for a Scotch on the rocks, just as soon as I could work up the vocabulary. Apparently I was born on something called Valentine's Day. So, when Harry Bighair came to visit he asked Daddy if they were going to call me Valenti. Daddy answered, 'I'm t going to dignify that with a reply.' Sometimes I wish Daddy would speak his mind more and t just sit on the fence all the time.