Awoke yesterday with tummy pains. Worked away, continuing from Saturday evening, at translation of Insurance documents from Hebrew. Easy stuff, but more than 4,000 English words written, I imagine. However, £10-16-0, which is not to be sneezed at. Edith reminds me to mention that Susannah has just come down, adorable in dressing gown, with plaintive cries of “Mummy”. Mummy sewing, Daddy writing, Susannah watching, the boys sleeping.
Angst overnight, dread at facing classes, but feeling of euphoria now, induced perhaps by lilting Pirates of Penzance tune, perhaps by feeling that one has got into swing of week – the being in the cold water is not so bad as the thought of plunging into the cold water.
In spite of capitalised injuction on p.87 caned Rigotti, Hanson & Judd to-day, one on each hand. A pity about Rigotii. A tall, overgrown boy, captain of basketball team, scout, a “principal” in “Pirates” (I’m in the chorus) and he works as well as anyone can do in his class, but perhaps the showdown will have done good. I gave him one, asked him if he wanted more, he said that would be enough. Poor Hanson, a nice little kid, drew his hand away at first, there was such venom in my expression and allure generally. NO, H.L., [Baudelaire’s hypocrite lecteur], NO repeat NO sexual or excretory overtones. Yes, I did have bullying tendencies (I think it fair to say, slight) as a boy, but I dread giving the cane now at least as much, if not more, than the kids receiving it.
Joseph Witriol's Writings 