2 May, 1953


Vasi and I ran into a spot of trouble today – we managed to burn our way through our entire stock of vacuum tubes. It’s an absolute nightmare as they’re a bugger to get hold of (and the university is little help in such matters). The sensible solution seemed to open a bottle of sherry to drown our sorrows and now I’ve an awful headache. You would think that I should have learnt by my age that drinking during the day is a folly. Still, I suppose there is a tea-total version of myself in another universe.

The only real bright spot today was that I ran into Charles again on the way home and he gave me a lift (it poured down all day). He seems rather familiar and is very easy to talk to – I rather like him. He is an accountant though, but I suppose nobody’s perfect. If things were different, I might even consider pursuing him. Quell your outrage that a woman can pursue a man – we should be long past the days of sexual inequality.

I am occasionally going to have to make entries in cypher to this diary. There are certain things that I dare not write down, in case this is read while I am still around. It’s nothing sinister – I don’t have a gambling addiction or a string of student lovers. The current political climate, however, dictates that there are certain things that one must not do.

K vmzf auual Ohem bb vcgaexb ykz ‘pofxwh’ kr bdc nfl cotleb dzue idyyqu efdej. Olm Kufweoa’s blkr bhz ubzivxgk aynif mw rrj mqm wear, dnp eu ayphcf Z jwui klgkx dmlw ns s iwwtk hh iel bn ii rt isg s fmzcnrvq gf ahb agrvr. I aiml pglokiva – nr qf zpq tbvfy bh wkvxuge.



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