Transcription: Five in the morning is the most horrible time, particularly when your body is still desperately trying to disentangle itself from half a bottle of whiskey. We dragged ourselves cold, crabby and aching from our bunks. The noise of submachine gun fire from the main room turned out to be frying bacon, and we tried to revive ourselves with this while the grey morning light began to seep hideously up into the sky outside. I've never understood all this fuss people make about the dawn. few and they're never as good as the photographs, which have the additional advantage of being things you can look ...
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