Wednesday 9th December 1936

29.5F at 9 o’clock. As the temperature rose, fog came. Not very thick, however.

My present chief at the works, Mr Nimo, seems a beastly autocratic type of man. Moody. Sometimes very decent, sometimes very irritating. Makes superfluous and hectoring remarks, i.e. “Clean this beaker. Don’t smash it.” Dammit, I haven’t smashed anything yet! Why should he expect me to bungle such a simple matter as the cleaning of a beaker?

Mad Willy and I, alone in the lab, 5:15, washing our hands (I with a cigarette), discuss our manager in an insubordinate way.