There is effectively nothing to report. I felt thoroughly weak today, with no appetite and some diarrhoea.  (It is somewhat alarming to discover that I have it often enough that I have finally mastered the spelling.) Neither is a symptom of Covid, so that’s something. 

I spent much of the day in bed worrying about the state of the world. Archie came in the morning, and managed to get me around the garden. He says his cousin Alistair (James’ and Cathy’s son) is coming to them for Christmas. Helen and Archie will drive to Falkirk to get him. He’ll stay one night, and take a taxi all the way back late on Christmas day.. Archie also says his father is staying in Greece (as we knew) – he doesn’t have much choice, now. But if it turns out that the new variant of the virus is more virulent as well as more infectious, he will come back willy nilly, with the possible sacrifice of his job.

 

Rachel phoned. Their Christmas is altered, too. At least they won’t be carrying Christmas dinner down to their pop-up pagoda in the garden. Their daughter’s boy-friend, who lives with them, now can’t get home to his own family, so they’ll have four for Christmas dinner which is not too bad. Others of her children will drop in for a quick drink in the garden. There will be other uses for the pagoda as winter progresses.

 

I’ve done no knitting, but perhaps I can knock off a couple of rows this evening until I get tired enough to go back to bed.