Wireless broken. Have made it to the 'Village' under the cover of darkness, the French have a set behind Café Rouge. We're okay but smoke was rising from the refectory chimney again this am & there are less cars. Madden is unhappy with her workwear, just like a woman, but I fear this will be the least of her worries. We are in Hut 683, closest to the perimeter fence with a tantalising glimpse of freedom beyond. A swift recce early yesterday revealed that it is electric & patrolled by dogs on the hour but the ground is frozen hard & tunnelling not an option: We will have to reconsider...
Our location code sent under the guise of 'Toulouse Sausage' was intercepted yesterday & scrambled to a Little Chef somewhere outside Cambridge. No good to anyone now. I also face three hours solitary tomorrow for spelling CenterParcs incorrectly on the header, darn. The work is gruelling: Bitter, cold & Perry has already succumbed to illness & despair. Words of consolation fall on deaf ears. I must get him to Foresters Inn before he turns to self harm. 'Mad Dog' Madden finds solace by running in the darkness. Clearly delirium is setting in early. And as for myself, cigarettes, wine & self-abuse keep me single-minded & strong, God willing. Now I must make the walk back to 683 before they turn on the searchers : Curfew is imminent & I need to see something with Jordan in it...
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