At an altogether ungodly hour this morning, Unc happened upon me abusing Annie for waking me, and entered my bedroom, accidentally treading on Bertie who was asleep on the floor. In a fit of utter malice he threw open the curtains and dragged Bertie from the room by his ear.
Eleanor, who for some maniacal reason chooses not to drink due to a child taking form in her womb – a reason to never succumb to child-bearing if I have ever heard one – was insufferably sprightly at breakfast and I am certain took great care in bashing the pots of scrambled eggs with the spoon as she served herself.
This is precisely why Bertie and I see each other but rarely; we may not survive if more frequent. He almost fell asleep in his porridge. I choked down some dry toast and a little tea and began to feel more myself, enough to confess my sighting of Mr Kray and Mrs Blair earlier this morning. Unc listened eagerly, then excused himself most abruptly and disappeared for the remainder of the day.
I was then forced to listen to Eleanor chattering about her new friends who are ‘the right sort of communist’, and proudly declare that she befriends those of all political intrigue. I could not care one jot and fortunately had made plans with Angela. We had quite a time strolling about town, discussing the looming war.
I wonder how my entries shall look in a few months – what horrors await? The news all seems so interminably bleak. Will Danzig ever be resolved? I look at Bertie and wonder… will you be called up, dear brother? Is this the last I shall see you with a smile upon your face?