Some will have seen my husband’s obituary in the Telegraph today. The on-line version used a wonderful photograph, unknown – or, at any rate, forgotten – by me. The print version substituted a dull-as-ditchwater one, which I do remember.

Knitting progressed, although I still haven’t taken that picture.

I watched some of Feller’s short-row Craftsy class, without success, as far as double-gusset heels are concerned, but also perhaps without much perseverance.

The big news, however, is the new episode of FruityKnitting, no. 40, right on schedule. Not to be missed, free on YouTube. I sat down with it after lunch, meaning to watch a bit, and watched it all. They’re still in Shetland. There’s a wonderful passage with Donna Smith, showing the spinning of fine lace yarn.

There’s also a bit with Oliver Henry, sorting yarn in the Jamieson & Smith warehouse. How lucky I was! to see him there, doing that, and address him (and not be mistaken) and introduce myself as the writer of Gladys Amedro’s obituary.

Cats

I think they are forming a team, like Morecombe and Wise or Abbott and Costello. Both like a little morning exercise, so why not career about the house shouting obscenities in pursuit of each other, before a bit of lunch and a well-earned afternoon nap? At night, Paradox is shut into the dining room as she has always been. The first thing I do in the morning, walking along the passage from bedroom to kitchen, is to release her. She springs out and bursts into purr, just as if it weren’t I who had imprisoned her.

But meanwhile Perdita, in the evening,  emerges from wherever-she-was, as soon as I come out of the dining room, (where I have been writing my blog as well as imprisoning my kitten)  and we spend a bit of grown-up time together and then go to bed, also together.