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 Valentino. Daddy answered, 'I'm not going to dignify that with a reply.' Sometimes I wish Daddy would speak his mind more and not just sit on the fence all the time.