Games Day Minus 2

Nothing much to do today except fret and make lists and beds. The sun is shining: that helps. And I found a whole runner bean this morning, previously unsuspected and at least seven inches long.

Helen and her tribe have gone back to Thessaloniki, much missed. It is against the course of nature to have to say goodbye to anyone before the Games. And I need her here, calm and energetic and ruthlessly efficient, to have someone to whom I can say, what are we going to do about lunch, then?

She phoned from Thessaloniki on Tuesday evening to say that their journey was delayed in Frankfurt, where they had to change planes. A clutch of monks from Mt Athos, in full fig I gather, were also waiting for the ongoing plane, and eased the interval by befriending Helen's little boys (who are bilingual in Greek). She wished she had had a camera handy.

I taught James' and Cathy's son Alistair to knit the other day -- he took to it like a duck to water, as they say. Like Kaffe on that famous train journey. I hope we'll have time to get on to purling in the next two days. Their aiyi back home in Beijing is a great knitter, and will be able to keep the ball rolling unless the Chinese have strong feelings about gender roles. One never knows -- even James hesitates to pronounce.

VKB

I got no. 24 the other evening, so I now own three of the twelve wartime ones. The bidding was the precise reverse of last time, although the final price was almost identical. This time, nothing happened until the last few minutes. I didn't entirely trust my new rustic roadband, and put in my unbeatable bid with fully 90 seconds to go. It gave the underbidder time to raise her bid twice, costing me a bit.

Alistair, with the aptitude for such things of a third millennium 10-year-old, hugely enjoyed the whole process (his parents don't eBay) and did a lot of screen-refreshing while I fluffed about in the kitchen during the last ten minutes. Happily, there's another one tomorrow evening, no. 34. I don't have my dating scheme with me here in the country, but since ten issues means five years, it must be from the late 40's. By the time it closes at 7:15 pm, the party will be complete (except of course for Helen) with everybody laughing and shouting and complaining about their accommodation. I am sure I can trust Alistair to keep his eye on the ball.