No breakfast in bed this year, I'm afraid. We both know how scrumptious the last one was, burnt bangers and all. There should be coffee out in the kitchen, though, and that, I can assure you, was a prodigious feat.
Look, I'm not sure as to whether or not it was supposed to be a surprise, but we are expected to have dinner with the coterie around 8. If a surprise element was in order, I apologise beforehand, sweetheart. Patricia should know by now that I can't keep a secret to save my own bollocks. I also told her that I was bringing a trifle -- wait for it -- that I saw in a bakery up in Dublin. Scared you there, didn't I? If we can convince the mob that I can cook a trifle for one night, I'll find the kindness in my frigid heart to grant you a hint as to where your gift is.
Love you, Leo
P.S. If there's dog slobber on this, feel free to blame Watson.