Sunday 28th January 1934

In the woods on Callow Hill I paused at a turn where the path slanted downwards, rolled a cigarette and lit it. Each smoke is precious for I can afford no more this week. Which will give out first, the tobacco, matches or papers? Good Heavens, how poor I am! Money follows me like a nightmare as I try to run away. Money wanted for this, Money wanted for that.

I could spend £10 in an instant, so many demands for it are there. Each time I have a little money it is simply a question of deciding which need is the more pressing. Usually – comfort. Food and cigarettes.