And one of those grey days last week was the second anniversary of my mother's death.

Above is the routine picture of the Vegetable Garden Now, as it appeared on Saturday morning. The eyes of faith can perhaps discern rhubarb growing to the left of the pot. It's growing inside the pot, too, and next time we're there we'll have rhubarb to eat. I grew up believing it to be an exotic and expensive luxury. Turned out that my mother didn't like it -- otherwise, it's freely available. Rhubarb can't be forced every year -- too much of a strain. So next year the pot will be moved.

Knitting

The new UK magazine arrived this morning. And reminder notices from both IK and Knitter's.

I'm advancing smartly down the right sleeve of the Fair Isle jacket. I'd like to finish the sleeve this week, before we go to London. But equally, I hate to have deadlines of any sort for my knitting. I very rarely knit birthday or other presents. We shall see. We'll be in London all next week. London is hard work, and it's not an entirely inviting prospect.

The Pope

This is my fifth Papal death, counting from Pius the 12th. Thomas-the-elder will be 21 this summer. He and, a fortiori, our other grandchildren have never known one before. Our children were all unmarried and indeed still mostly living at home, last time. And the other times, the Papacy was something that happened to old men. Even 58 -- the late Pope's age when he was elected -- didn't seem exactly young to me at the time. But this time round, they are almost certain to elect a man younger than I am.

Edinburgh cathedral is our parish church. Our local Cardinal said Mass yesterday. He regularly turns out for high liturgical occasions, but this is only the second time I can remember his appearing for external reasons. The other one was the Sunday after 9/11. That was an impressive and moving affair. Yesterday, the media were there in force, with much equipment, looking like aliens. I tried to pay attention and not think about knitting and not pick my nose, just in case.