A Story of War

I nip over to town on a “Charlie” as some people call it, and am now in the Wings Club observing the election results. Yesterday I go to a party at Ellen’s, taking a bottle of rum with me, and there is a beautiful blonde there called Jane, and like the Daily Mirror’s Jane too, though a bit young and does not speak too much English – and wears glasses! Anyhow I do a bit of cheek to cheek dancing and get shivers all down my spine when she starts breathing down my starboard ear – quite unintentionally. I am sort of barman and dispense to all and sundry, getting to bed by 1am. Bart and Betty are there, demanding that their glasses be filled up, also Hans and Freddy, so I am well in. Anton too – with his car just swiped by the Military Police. Today I sneak out to the airfield, and ought to return on Sunday, though I would like to stay until Monday – or would I?

I ring up Monica at her office, and am told rather curtly to ring later at 7.30pm, when she will be at home and packing, so it looks as though I have “had it” once more. What to do with the bottle of champagne that I bought her – also a pair of silk stockings for 125 cigarettes. I shall miss a damned good party on Saturday with Freddy and Henry. I always enjoy coming in over the English coast and looking down at houses and gardens and seafronts. I wish the “day would dawn” soon, or perhaps I am condemned to a bachelor’s life. I have got over Louise – and am afraid that if I ever collect someone I shall then meet someone better later on, and wish I hadn’t jumped first time. And become a second Johnny Benbow. However, “press on irregardless” – as I am so fond of saying.