Sunday 10th January 1937

Just back from Ealing, 10p.m. Usual route; bus to S. Ealing, tube to Hounslow Central, Green Line to Victoria. A nip of Scotch whilst waiting at Hounslow, to alleviate the misery of dismal High Street.

Comparing home with digs – I know it’s wrong but – there’s much to be said in favour of the latter. The atmosphere of digs is methodical, less haphazard than that of home. The bedroom is mine, and in it my possessions are neatly arranged. Guess I’ve been too long in digs, living independently. Lost the co-operative spirit. In digs – this is beastly selfish! – I can do things and live my own way, without any feeling of interference. When at home, I seem to have no initiative. Can imagine myself becoming, eventually, just a sheep-like hulk.