I am gripped by wordlessness this morning. I'll touch a few bases here, and move on to breakfast.

The second Aran sleeve advances – much pleasanter now that I know exactly how many (64) pattern rows there will be. I should certainly reach the frightening finishing stage by the weekend, when the Beijing Mileses are expected and summer will begin.

Wimbledon

Not as much fun for me as it used to be, decades ago now, when my husband was gainfully employed and so not around in the afternoon. He’s not remotely interested. Still, I’ll get glimpses.

My opinion is – although it seems pretentious to pontificate – that Andy Murray is not quite in the Greatness Category occupied by Federer and Nadal and the unspellable Mr. Djokovic.

However, stuff happens. I am sure, in the absurdly unlikely event of our former Edgbaston neighbour Ann Jones reading this blog, that she won’t be offended when I say that Billie Jean King was a greater tennis player than she was. Came the day, came the hour, Jones won the Wimbledon singles title by beating King in the final.

But Murray has got three Billie Jean’s to get past. (Only two, in fact, because of the way the draw works – Nadal is close to inevitable, but Federer and Djokovic will sort things out between themselves.)

Not much else. I didn’t get to grips with the sock yarn stash, but still hope to. Kaffe’s “hand-dye effect” might be fun to try, if I can make room for it. And I want a Zauberball.

Shandy, it's delicious to know that asafoetida was used to make bland mixtures taste like "real medicine".