December 11 + 

Am receiving ionisation treatment from an electrical therapeutist⁠—a quack! He is a sort of electrician⁠—still, if he mends my bells I’ll kiss his boots. As for ⸻, he is no better than a byreman, and I call him Hodge. This is not the first time I have felt driven to act behind the back of the Profession. In 1912, being desperate, and M⁠⸺ worse than a headache, I greedily and credulously sucked in the advice of my boardinghouse proprietor and went to see a homoeopathist in Finsbury Circus. He proved to be a charlatan at 10s. 6d. a time, and though I realised it at once, I religiously travelled about for a month or more with tinctures and drop-bottle. I could write a book on the Doctors I have known and the blunders they have made about me.⁠ ⁠… The therapeutist took me for 33. I feel 63. I am 27. What a wreck I am, and.⁠ ⁠… + 