Dear Friends,

I have been enormously grateful for your messages of sympathy and encouragement.

After 48 fairly horrendous hours, my husband was taken back into hospital on Friday – not chest-infection this time, but urology. My own diagnosis, for what it's worth, is that the first set of drs sent him forth into the world seriously constipated from which resulted a number of unpleasant consequences. In My Day, drs were passionately concerned about the state of one's bowels no matter which other organ was their primary focus of interest. Nowadays, not so, according to my husband. He says that no questions were asked on that subject at all during his first admission.

James came up from London on Friday for a weekend of visiting and support. Thanks to the miracles of mobile telephony, I was able to intercept him en route and send him directly from the station to the hospital, where he found us sitting around in an assessment bay. We remained there for many hours. The NHS has redefined the meaning of the word “soon” – another observation of my husband's.

He was finally admitted to a ward, with a catheter.

Yesterday James and I found him furious that he was not being released. He is scheduled for discharge on Tuesday – not the end of the world, for heaven's sake. He thought he had agreed that he would stay in overnight, and be let out if the blood tests were no worse than the evening before.

Yesterday's visit was grim. He harangued us on this topic for over an hour. I was very glad that James was there. I phoned our niece C. last night – the daughter of my husband's beloved sister – and she happily agreed to accompany me on today's visit. (She and I went to Greece together recently – she's the one.) Alexander is coming over tomorrow, when C. will be back at work. And on Tuesday he will be released.

So that's where we are. I sort of think we navigated a bend in the river, yesterday. I can't at all say what it looks like downstream. James has gone back to London.

Knitting

I finished the fifth pocket square on Friday as we sat about in Assessment – and cast on the sixth. Of eight. Serious progress.

I keep logging on to Old Maiden Aunt, but so far I have found no supplies of the yarn needed for Kate Davies' wonderful Fantoosh. When the yarn finally turns up, I'll have to order it, and the pattern, if only to commemorate this crisis in our lives.

From Zite, these knitted cactuses. I'm having a sort of cactus phase at the moment so this is particularly welcome. But I like this sort of knitting in general – although I don't like doing it.

Arne & Carlos have done a “Summer Night” yarn for Regia. Very tempting, but my next purchase of sock yarn is going to be madelinetosh Whiskey Barrel in their new sock-compatible yarn, for my husband.

Zite also had a link to the Future Museum of South West Scotland. That's a link to the knitting section of the website. Here is a much more interesting link to the section on Sanquhar knitting in particular. I've never been to Sanquhar, but I remember the turn-off sign somewhere in the long, desolate stretch between Glasgow and the Border, when we used to drive every so often from Perthshire to Birmingham. I've never attempted any Sanquhar knitting, either.