7th January (1918)

Inspected by a Red Hat who took exception to my wearing a comforter outside my overcoat.  The snow has melted into most infernal slish or slosh.

Made an amazing hash of things this afternoon; was sent off to drive a waggon with another man’s horses – result – capsized the whole caboodle into a ditch, horses and harness being immersed in mud.  The Corporal in charge (killed in action later) a quiet sort of cuss, showed what he was made of; in a trice he had taken a flying leap off the waggon over the ditch, and had me by the shoulders and off the floundering quadruped.  He only grinned and didn’t blame me but (wise man) sent for an old driver.  Disasters like that kind don’t make me crestfallen a bit; they so tickle me that I have difficulty in concealing my mirth.  W. has just received his fourth balaclava and was lucky enough to give it away, though to a man who already had one, but appears to be a collector.

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