Friday, January 1, 2010

1 January, 1911

A new year! I wonder what our wives and families are doing today. How odd it must be for them not to know where on earth we are; mind you, I have no idea where K is either. We're both at sea.

We press on, finally, an enormous relief. Oates reports that the ponies are taking the ship's motion well.

I tremble to think what work we have ahead of us this year, but if Fortune smiles upon us we shall be victorious in our quest and will have attained another beautiful white feather in England's cap before it's through.

And I shan't have to go back to sea, and my fortune will be made and my place assured in posterity, and Kathleen happy, and Amundsen thwarted and Shackleton beaten and all will be right with the world.

I feel a bit itchy. It's been a while since many of us have bathed. Excepting Bowers, of course. Ought to bring the new year in with a wash and a shave, I suppose.

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