Friday 11th June 1943

Everything is fine with me, just now. I had dental treatment – one small stopping – and have been working in the sunny garden this afternoon, with William. In between whiles I have been reading “Rust of Rome,” a Deeping novel, with more interest than formerly.

At present I am sitting in a chair beside my bed. The wind that comes in through the open doorway is kept at bay by a hospital red screen, cunningly arranged so that I am enclosed on three sides; and the electric fan above my bed is turning at half speed, instead of rushing around madly like the fans further down the ward. And I have some cigarettes. So all is well.