In Slovenian, the crisis diary to look for was written by Fran Milčinski, a judge and comic novelist (Dnevnik 1914–1920, published by Slovenska Matica only in 2000). Written during the Great War, the journals were never meant to be published. They depict life at its fullest and most intimate, at a time devastated by the Spanish Flu. But the pandemic receives only scant notice. Mostly, it is about lockdowns and disruptions, fear, loathing, and shortages. “A beautiful spring day,” Milčinski noted on 4 April 1915. “One cannot believe that war, plague, and famine have descended. How could it be under the gentle, mellow sun?” On 28 October of same year, Milčinski recounted the visit of a nurse. “28 years old, looks 40.” She drew strength from telling hairy jokes. Such as the following one about elderly newlyweds. “On their honeymoon, before going to bed, they each put a glass of water on the nightstand without knowing the other’s motives. She deposited her dentures, he, his glass eye. Being thirsty at night, she downed his glass, thinking it contained only water. Trouble ensued, a doctor was called in, prescribing cabbage and mash potatoes. The doctor waited out and finally performed the examination. ‘My lady, someone is looking out at me.’”