No more!

Friday, January 11th., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

Marguerite bought a pig at the end of the year. It was a small one but we have been eating this damned animal ever since, in all forms except ham, which has not yet arrived. Brawn every morning for breakfast. Yesterday I struck at pigs feet for lunch and had mutton instead. They are neither satisfying nor digestible, and one of the biggest frauds that ever came out of kitchens. All of this is a war measure, and justifiable. I now no longer care whether I have sugar in my tea or not. We each have our receptacle containing the week's sugar, and use it how we like. It follows us about, wherever we happen to be taking anything that is likely to need sugar. My natural prudence makes me more sparing of mine than I need to be. Another effect of the war is that there is a difficulty in getting stamped envelopes at the Post Office. The other day the postmaster by a great effort and as proof of his goodwill, got me £1 worth, which won't go far.

It occured to me how the war must be affecting men of 70 or over, who have nothing to look forward to. The war has ruined their ends and they cannot have much hope.

I am staying at home all next week so as to get a good period of ten days at my cocotte novel which is to be called "The Pretty Lady". I hope to finish the debauched thing by the end of the month. Then the hard part will begin of trying to get it published in face of cries that it 'offends public morals'. I can hear them now. But I shall not give ground. Christine is either a prostitute or she is nothing.

Another reason for me staying at home next week is a sort of 'message' to Marguerite. She continues to pester me to give up this house and live in London. I will not do it and I have told her so. The whole business is getting me down. It is disturbing my sleep which is bad enough to start with. I simply will not do it, and rather than do it I would live here alone. I regret in some ways consenting to her having a flat in London from which she goes to her war 'work'; three or four shifts a week of four hours each at a YMCA canteen near Victoria station. I don't resent her doing the work, though it doesn't appear to me to amount to much, but it has sharpened her appetite for London generally. It's ironic that it was she who wanted to come here in the first place.