I really ought to give some thought to a disguise if I am to be often found stealthily observing my neighbours from afar. It would assist with the blackout rules, if I were to dress wholly in a variety of black outfits with my face obscured. It would surely be a large part of the war effort. What a bloody good egg I am.
Today I met Ales and his lovely lady friend Angela – a sweet twenty-year-old from the East End – after stalking them incessantly for an hour or two. Am starting to arrive at the conclusion that my Mother is quite correct regarding the reasons I’m not married. But that is a digression and I possess neither the will nor the time to list the many, many reasons to support her hypothesis. My hand cramps already from writing.
And so, on with the stalking.
Ales does seem to be a genuine and honest sort of chap. He appears keen to make a life for himself here in Britain, so it confounds me to think he might have murdered his cousin, a boy he referred to as a brother. Angela herself couldn’t be further from a suspect. She and Ales have only been stepping out together for a few weeks or so. I found her company to be utterly charming. She strikes me as a London-born version of Dotty. Would it be unethical for me to arrange an outing with her?
Ales also mentioned that Josef had been engaging in moonlit trysts of his own recently, something that Unc did not elude to in our nightly discussions. Perhaps Ales did not advise him.
Am suddenly drawn to the gossiping bakers next door… am certain there was mention of an affair in the neighbourhood, but those darn tea biscuits drowned everything out. Drat! If this is another example of my efforts failing due entirely to my inability to focus on anything else while eating, I shall be furious.