Ian Whybrow

I’ve lost my diary. I’m always losing things - keys, especially escape me, sometimes for years at a time - but this is the first time my diary has walked off and left me. It might have taken to the country air of Upton Scudamore or Warminster - or possibly of Suffolk - because I’ve been to those places in the last few days. My appointments, my obligations, my tentative arrangements are lying quietly out of reach, along with a few scribbled memories and ideas. I’ll describe it to you. It’s A5, claret red, slightly bruised at the corners. It bears the logo PFD on its breast. Come home, Peters, Fraser and Dunlop; I need you.