Alerts throughout the night, but no bombs dropped.
Watkins has an amazing collection of souvenirs to send home. Among them is a pink merry-go-round about a foot high, which gyrates to the music of tinkling bells. Made in Nippon. Today he appeared holding a green parrot gingerly on a stick. We have called the bird Watkins Junior. It sits on its perch all day looking sour, defiling the floor, and biting everyone who comes within reach. Watkins is afraid it will lay an egg. As he has had some connections with Hollywood, this prospect alarms him. (I understand that laying an egg means something dreadful in Hollywood—producing a film that falls flat, or something).
This afternoon PWB moved into the Catholic High School. We have a barn like upstairs office whose wooden walls are washed a faded green. The church adjoins us—a huge concrete & galvanised non erection with a more or less Spanish cupola
We sleep in tents. Near us is a bomb shelter though—fully built by the Nip during his period of occupation.