Safely back.

And the Grandson Sweater is safely united with its grandson. Here’s the picture from “Nordic Knitting”, just to remind you.
Here’s Joe, trying – rather successfully – to smoulder in similar fashion.



And here he is in propria persona.



It looks as if the fit is fairly successful. All this stuff about measuring and swatching must have some foundation after all. I like the way the neck stands away in a funnel – more comfortable than if close, I suspect. I’ve offered to lower it if he prefers.

Joe is studying politics at Nottingham University. He hopes to spend the summer in DC with Theo and Jenni (last summer’s newlyweds) in their new house, working at something political. He is currently in the throes of visa application.

Strathardle

The ground is still frozen hard an inch below the surface. I got a certain amount of pruning and fertilizing and mulching-with-manure done, but the sea kale and Jerusalem artichokes remain unplanted. And I had hoped to root out two dud gooseberry plants for which I have ordered replacements. No luck. By this time last year, I had planted a row of autumn-fruiting raspberries and a clutch of Mara des Bois strawberries and prepared the sites for the courgettes. (Dig a hole, half fill with manure, fill it in, mark with stick.)

Chaucer's "drought of March" is fully in operation. Everything is going to grow like Japanese knotweed when it rains and winter finally lets go.

But we had, at least, picked the perfect moment to enjoy our snowdrops. These pictures were taken on Thursday morning – we both think they got even better over the weekend.


M.T.

Her son phoned – ironically, on Mothering Sunday – to say that the friend for whom I knit those chemo caps over Christmas is dead. Not a surprise, but a real blow.

When we saw them last summer, she seemed as ever, full of strength and good cheer. He was obviously fading. She told us about her cancer of two years before – one of those nasties which was advanced past remedy before it was discovered. I think she said it was attached to a major blood vessel. The drs could only prune it a bit and try chemo. They had succeeded better than they expected or hoped. Her husband’s fear that she would leave him was palpable as she told us all this. M. herself could have been talking about a round of golf (a game she loved).

We have known them for 40 years, true friends. He was my husband’s colleague at work. His support – devotion, is not too strong a word – went well beyond any job description. It is hard to see how he can live without his wife. His kidneys have failed – M. told me that in her Christmas letter. His son said on the phone on Sunday that he intends to give up dialysis.