...on to London

...I'll try to log in from there with an unillustrated message, if I get access to a computer during the week. We're staying with Alexander and Ketki -- he makes his living from computers, and strenuously keeps his mother away from his ones, but I may get a chance at our daughter Rachel's house at some point.

Comments

Three, yesterday! Beat that, Queer Joe! They came to me in Unanswerable Email form. Maureen stumbled on us looking for Wonderful Wallabys -- the news there, Maureen, is that Fergus' WW shrank irretrievably after the first washing, and has been passed on to his much younger cousin, Thomas-the-Younger (aet. 5 mos.).I've got lots more of the yarn, and will knit Fergus another a.s.a.p. But "p" in knitting doesn't always come quickly.

Ann and Linda wrote about the royal wedding. Ann is soon to be a mother-of-the-bridegroom, unenviable role, except that it's cheaper than the other one, and hopes to look as elegant as Camilla did on Saturday. Linda expresses general doubts and lack of enthusiasm, which I must say I increasingly feel. I mean, they're soulmates, absolutely made for each other, and I never liked the other one, from the beginning. But -- Queen?

There was an ugly joke on a satirical program we watched last night. Saturday was the day of the Grand National, and indeed the Queen herself began her speech at the wedding reception, we are told, by letting everybody know who won. The satirist -- this was mainstream, network British television, so it must be all right to repeat -- sort of wove the two together: "...owned and trained by Andrew Parker Bowles, ridden by the Prince of Wales."

Queen?