My husband is back in hospital. The doctor came and found that there was even less oxygen in his blood than the day before. Our resistance crumbled. There followed a long day of waiting, first for the ambulance and then for a hospital doctor. And then – although by that time I had gone home – for a bed. The doctor was cheerful about it. “It’s always like this on Mondays.”

I got on with the socks. It took a while to get my fingers re-accustomed to sock knitting, and another while to finish the ribbing of the second sock. I think sock-ribbing is the kind I like least. But it’s done, and more hospital sitting should mean good progress today. Alexander is coming over.

In the evening I watched an episode of The Night Manager – too complicated for my husband – and knit half-brioche. I’m within hailing distance of finishing the back.

And this morning I have been overtaken by the One Impossible Disaster. I can’t find my glasses. This happens to other people all the time – never to me because, since childhood, the last thing I do at night is take them off and put them beside the bed. And the first thing I do in the morning is reach out and get them and put them on.

There was one memorable occasion in Oberlin when I had put them on the floor beside the bed and swung my feet out in the morning and stepped on them. I never did that again.

But this morning, impossibly, they are not to be found. An old pair from the drawer will serve, just about; uncomfortable, but safe to drive, anyway. I don’t know what to do. There’s nowhere else to look – and they simply aren’t there. Phone the oculist.

Somehow or other I had got out of sync with Franklin’s Lion Brand Notebook. I spent some happy time yesterday catching up. Notification turns up amongst my “Promotions”, along with messages from Susan Crawford about the latest postponement of the Vintage Shetland Project. (There’s nothing new from that source.) I must have missed several. I particularly like his latest, about the Franklin Habit Home for Neglected Knitting Projects.