Again, very little to report. I knit happily on, with Miss Rachel, delighted to be relieved of the need to measure or indeed think. I’ve passed the half-way point between cast-on and arm-pits: and the second half of anything always goes faster.

I’ve been fiddling about a bit, trying to tidy up life. I have succeeded, as you know, in re-subscribing to the New Yorker, and am very much looking forward to the article, promised in today’s (London) Times, about the (apparently) disastrous Reality TV experiment on the Ardnamurchan peninsula.  

Amongst this fiddle, I spent a while the other day, as not infrequently, wandering around Carol Sunday’s website and subscribing (or re-subscribing, as events proved) to her newsletter.

She wrote to me, saying that I was already subscribed. I replied that I was trying to tidy things up, and that my husband had recently died. She wrote back asking if she could send me a consolatory kit.

I am overwhelmed, and feel like the kid with the keys to the candy shop. She suggests a Pueblo Stole, which her software must have told her I’ve been looking at a lot lately. I think that’s probably what I’ll go for, although I’ll hesitate a little while longer.

Comments

Chloe, I didn’t even know that anyone would want to de-claw a cat. I certainly won’t let them near Perdita. I still feel bad about having had her spayed.

Mary Lou: two separate productions here. I have just settled down with the second series of a television “biopic” (I think would be the word) about Victoria. The first one ended with the birth of her first child, and the new one starts there. Meanwhile, Judy Dench appears in a new film (for the cinema) about the aged Victoria, called “Victoria and Abdul”. That’s the one which is advertised with a picture of her in a small and most attractive Shetland-looking shawl.

The publicity says that her servant Abdul – this is after John Brown’s death – taught her Urdu to the point where she was able to write a diary in that language, which is pretty good going for old age.