I’m sorry about yesterday.
Here’s the story: Juliet is to be baptised on the 16th – next weekend. I’d like to go, and if my husband is still incarcerated, it’s perfectly possible. If not, not. So yesterday, first thing, Helen drove me up to Waverley – surely the only main-line railway station in the Western world named after a novel – and I bought tickets down and back.
Lying in bed thinking about it, I had decided that if I went at all, I might as well come back first thing Monday morning, rather than having to spend all Sunday afternoon at the party looking at my watch. And then I decided, why not go down Friday afternoon? So that’s what I’ve booked. And I’ve arranged a hair appt for next Thursday.
So that might give me Saturday for something in London. Abstract Expressionism at the RA? The chance of a lifetime. Or Opus Anglicanum (medieval embroidery) at the V&A? It’s not knitting, but…
And then, on Sunday, the baptism. And maybe she’ll be carried in the Princess shawl. Alexander and his family will be there. Not Helen and hers.
But it all depends – as far as my presence is concerned -- on social services not coming up with that Package of Care.
Then I walked back down Broughton Street, buying this and that. And then Helen and I went to the hospital. (The Mosaic socks are coming on fine.) And then I just did nothing else for the rest of the day except read my thriller. No knitting at all. I hope to do better today. If the London trip does happen, I think I’ll take the Uncia along. It’s light, and compact, and all those uninterrupted hours are not to be despised. And leaving it untouched for three or four whole days is not a good idea.
Loretta, thank you for your kind offer of getting me a Knitzi. But don’t worry – I think there’s a good chance it will get in under the radar, and if not, so what? Just at the moment, I am between credit cards – long story, and nothing to do with lack of funds. When the new one arrives, maybe even today, I think that a Knitzi will be top of the list.
Janet, how nice to think that we have the CT River in common. My brother-in-law (the man for whom the Whiskey Barrel socks are destined) took me sailing on it one evening. The whole experience, the light, was pure Thomas Eakins, not to be forgotten.