Monday 7th October 1940

The moon is half towards the full now. Soon be a bit more fun o'nights. But the days – Flies, damned filthy, maddening, dysentery-carrying flies. I never enjoy a meal nowadays. One squats in the dust and gulps rapidly at the same sort of food each day. The menu never varies. One waves frantically with one's hands the whole time, trying to bolt the food and tea before the voracious flies settle on it.

I find I'm getting more and more uncouth in my feeding. If it's margarine and jam (served on a hunk of bread) I never attempt to do any spreading. I just bite the top off the hunk of bread and gobble the margarine and marmalade right away. Even then the flies (they're quite crazy, not like some English flies) will circle around my hand as I raise the food to my mouth, and eventually even settle, baffled, around my lips.