Saturday 14th December 1940

This evening, after having had tea and done a little shopping, Stan Ling and I went to a low cabaret. It was not very elevating to us. As we'd both got colds in the head and had just been re-inoculated (T.A.B.) we perhaps set out in a more gloomy state of mind than usual. There were various native dances by Arab girls clad chiefly in bits of tinsel. I've often seen these sorts of dances in films and it was interesting, though not exciting, to see the real thing. There were also dreadful “Wog” singers and the floor show concluded with a shockingly dull and poorly produced attempt at comic-opera – the principle was a nauseatingly fat Arab woman. Most of the time, Arab whores (with very poor technique, incidentally) were hanging around our table, trying to “pet” and paw us.

“What d'you think of it Stan?”
“Pretty bloody”
“Let's go!”
“OK”

On our return to camp, we were told that the regiment was under orders to move!
“And to think that we wasted our last evening in civilisation like that!” I said regretfully.