Yesterday was the actual anniversary – the Princess of Wales made it memorable by dying on our 40th. We have never celebrated anniversaries, and we didn’t yesterday, but it was pleasant to think of. Helen sent us these flowers, as welcome and preposterous in their way as the Glenisla Shield:

I watched a teeny tiny bit of yesterday’s carry-on, while setting up the video to record something else. Those Royals can do timing. The Queen’s car pulled up, in stately fashion, in time for her to emerge calmly, greet the waiting clergyman, kiss her son and grandsons, and take her place for the procession. No standing around, no sense of haste. And then the procession moved off at precisely 12 noon.

The funeral itself, 10 years ago, was even more impressive, because the coffin was brought by horses from Kensington Palace where Diana lived across London to Westminster Abbey. It was carried in as Big Ben struck the hour. They must have been pacing it out all week, with stop watches.

One of the many things I mistrusted about Bill Clinton in the early days was his spectacular unpunctuality.

However, this isn’t advancing the subject of knitting.

I’m past the half-way mark of the third pattern repeat in the Princess centre. I think there are eight altogether, maybe nine, and of course since I am at the apex of a rapidly widening triangle, I’m nothing like a third of the way through.

Here’s the plan: I’ll knit on like this until we next go to Strathardle – not long hence, I hope. Then I’ll lay it aside.

I’ll bring Ketki’s gansey and the gansey-books back here to base and finish (after bringing the Princess centre to a suitable stopping-place) and then proceed to Theo’s. Here’s the yarn for his, looking rather alarmingly baby-blue. The hope is that it will look faded-denim when knit, especially if the promised slight unevenness in the dye manifests itself.

I forgot to measure Theo when he was here, so I must send him instructions.

And that will leave Strathardle free for a new project.

If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans for tomorrow.

Helen is on her way south from Strathardle at this very moment, with three fierce boys. She’s leaving for Thessaloniki tomorrow before dawn, and will be much missed. She’ll bring with her six copies of the Blairgowrie Advertiser. We’re splashed all over it, she says.