Thursday 17 December †1952
Another distasteful episode involving my wayward secretary Celia. I had just given Watkins six of the best on the bare ñ he had been running in the corridor for the third time in a week ñ when I heard a faint cough outside the door of my study. On going to investigate, I found Celia kneeling on the floor with her ear to the keyhole. She had been listening in on Watkinsí caning! At a human level, I could identify. There is certainly something hypnotic, even erotic, in the sound of a cane landing full force on naked buttocks. But that is no excuse for what I regard as little better than voyeurism. A simple solution was at hand and I wasted no time in applying it. Six of the best for Celia, pants down, with Watkins watching! From the sheepish way Celia left the room afterwards, I think she had learnt her lesson.