Wednesday 17th February 1943

Yesterday I felt queer and irritable all of a sudden. Nerves taut and “edgy”. Felt so foul that I went sick on a “special”. I made out my own B256 and went across to RHQ. There I found L/Bdr. Staffer, an Essex man of 519, who was the day's regimental sick orderly. “Feel queer, Steve boy” he said quietly in his slow Essex brogue. And he took me to the MO.

Thank God! This MO is more of a doctor than an officer. I had to see him again this morning and tomorrow I go for an exam. by a nerve specialist. They must do something for me. Suddenly everything has got beyond bearing. Routine... and silly little things. When someone asks me the time – someone asks me the time DOZENS OF TIMES A DAY – I always reply - “Ten past!” or “Quarter to!” whatever it may be, not mentioning the hour. I can't mention the hour, it is too maddening! And every time, the damn fool will need to be re-assured about the hour. If I blurt out “Five past!” I am immediately asked, “Five past six?” or whatever it is. As I told the MO, I am not trying to “work” a Base job. I'll gladly go back to the desert, to Tunisia, now. That might cure me. I must have a change, I must get away from this routine.