A week of hard work. We’re tired. My hands, hardened by toil, found it difficult to re-adapt to lace knitting last night. But we had a great time and got a lot done. And this is an utterly magical time of year. It’s worth no end of Novembers, to have a day in the country in April.

We spent yesterday driving about on art historical business, establishing whether it is possible to see the sea from Durie, on the road from Cupar to Methill in the Kingdom of Fife. Yes, it is, is the answer. I have pretty well eliminated Raphael as the artist my husband knows about, by that remark.

I made good progress with Ketki’s pink gansey while we were in Strathardle, and had a pleasant visit with my sister-in-law, who doubts, however, whether the Herring Girls actually wore colour. There is an essay to be written about the different natures and degrees of pleasure – tactile, intellectual, visual -- afforded by different types of knitting.

However, for today, the Springtime in Strathardle thing will have to wait, in favour of Rachel Miles of Beijing on her First Holy Communion day. Her father James says that the priest remarked on the veil, all unprompted. Rachel has grown and changed in the year since I’ve seen her.

On the left, the veil. On the right, Rachel wearing it, last Saturday, at the Chateau Regalia (sic) somewhere in Beijing.