I get a letter OK. I do a reputed “dicey” photo job over, or rather before, Oldenburg, at 2500′, but the flak gunners are all asleep. We have a Wing dance on Sunday and I steal the Group Captain’s woman, a WAAF F/O called Brenda Scott. She comes down from Ghent periodically to keep him warm in bed, and I go up to him during a dance and tell him he is wanted on the telephone by Flying Control. I dance around in his place until he comes back and takes a lunge at me. Later I catch her coming out of the lavatory and tell her that Andy has gone off to the Ops room for a few minutes and that I am to look after her, and keep her for about an hour this way. Later he tells me, rather rudely, to beat it, so I go.
Next morning he convinces everyone that I am posted back to Burma, and himself that I believe him. Harry Davison knocks out an ENSA girl, by mistake, having missed his swing at someone else.
The weather is bad, damn cold and practically snowing, and we do not do much flying. Two of my flight are overdue back from leave, and I am coming out in spots through lack of exercise. All I have had this year is two or three games of rugger in February.