All well. I'll tell my husband about my wedding plans tomorrow, or perhaps on Tuesday. And I must get seriously started on list-making. I need wedding wrapping paper, and to try on the two possible items from my wardrobe, and to make a donation to charity which is what Matt and Hellie have asked for. I already have a hair appt for Friday morning. That's not too daunting a list, even for me.

Knitting went well yesterday, on my husband's sleeveless vest. It's wonderful to be churning out st st with wonderful madtosh DK, after all those weeks of torturing it into double moss st for the Sous Sous. Not that the double moss stitch isn't a wonderful fabric, too. The yarn from Loop (destined for the Dunfallandy blankie) couldn't possibly come until tomorrow at the earliest. That should see me a good couple of inches further on.

Nothing of interest from Flipboard. They are absolutely obsessed with someone called Taylor Swift, utterly unknown to me, a fan of whose knit a sweater for her with her picture on it. Not a terribly nice sweater. One thinks of Dr Johnson's line about women preaching. Flipboard carries this story again and again day after day with always the same picture of Taylor Swift and the sweater.

Non-knit

I think I have found the television set for us – bigger than the present one, but not grotesquely bigger. I went up to John Lewis early yesterday but it was already Saturday and I didn't hang around to talk to a Man.

Your observations about cats and modern, slim TV's are well taken. At the moment, Perdita is not allowed in that room ever, because it is also where I knit and because she gets on the chest of drawers and knocks objets off of it. She'd be glad to knock a television set down, the bigger the better.

This can't continue, however. When my husband comes home, he will expect his cat to sit on his lap when he is watching television and make intelligent comments from time to time, not hare around the periphery of the room with a ball of yarn in her mouth.

Her biting has become so bad that yesterday I finally resorted to the ultimate sanction – spraying her in the face with a gentle blast of water from my chillie-plant-sprayer. I should have done it sooner. I was afraid she would think I didn't like her, but in fact she understands perfectly.

She is often in Mad Cat Mode when I go to bed and sit up reading for half an hour. I have often had to put her out of the room lest I be mauled to death. Last night I took the sprayer to bed with me. All it needed was one application, and that a rather feeble one which mostly landed on her shoulder. From then on all I had to do was move my hand towards the sprayer. This morning I think she showed evidence of understanding “No!”, even with the sprayer nowhere to be seen.

She sits at the foot of the bed and looks at me with those round eyes: “How could you be so beastly to your cat?” But she doesn't seem to hold it against me.