I go out walking with bird book and field glasses. Weather fine now with orange sunset over the ‘cup of the saucer’ in which the Club and grounds lie. Bitterly cold night and mornings. Saturday I walk out to the Knights for lunch and tea, then play football for the RAF against the Town. The altitude gets to me, but I manage to put up a show. No one in in the evening and I get tired and go to bed at 12 to be kept awake until 2am by locals dancing with WACs. Withers and G.E. Corkin have gone down and I’m a bit lonely, though the other residents and I stoke up a hot rum and lime before dinner. Shooting seems off, as Douglas is always playing bridge when the planters come into the bar, so he will never be able to fix anything.
A good life as a planter up here, Assistants get 250/- and managers up to 900/- and nearly 50% extra as commission on a good garden. Beautiful country as any I ever saw, tea and jungle being practically one in parts, and excellent shikar.
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