Again, very little – but I did finish that third skein of Buachaille, and will wind the fourth before I allow myself to go to bed.

And I advanced the Palermo story somewhat, booking our “Gattopardo” walking-tour and our day of “Cooking with the Duchess” (wife of Tomasi di Lampedusa’s adopted son). It turns out that our hotel is rather well-placed, within an easy walk of the starting-points for both of those treats. Certainly a matter of good luck rather than good management: it was chosen somewhat for centrality but mostly because it offered single rooms.

It remains to book our rail journeys, which may be cheaper if done sooner, and an excursion to Monreale, which can probably be left to the last moment or beyond.

My sister and her husband are about to embark on a “Road Scholar” tour of Iceland, after which they’ll come and see us. She is tired of arranging flights and hotels and happy to leave it to someone else. I am finding it rather invigorating.

An unexpected package from the Schoolhouse this morning: Meg’s “Norwegian Snow Flurry” pattern, Anne Bardsgard’s “Selbuvotter” and Svanhild Strom’s and Marjun Biskopsto’s “Ferosk Strikkebog”. The former, in Norwegian (I guess) about mitten patterns, the latter, perhaps in Faroese, a collection of traditional-type patterns.

All very nice, but I have no recollection whatsoever of ordering them. They are certainly the sort of thing I might order, except that I am trying to cut down a bit on things. It’s more than a bit alarming.

Shandy, yes: I saw and enjoyed the first episode of “Cuckoo’s Calling” and think I will now go and watch the second while winding that wool. My husband was never very good at that sort of thing, where you had to relax and allow yourself not entirely to understand and trust the story to straighten itself out in the end.

I am a great JK Rowling fan, not because of Harry Potter but because my niece used to teach her small daughter and therefore knows her slightly. They met in the street once, in Morningside, when my niece was with her own daughter. She introduced her daughter to JK Rowling but then, perhaps overcome by the aura of fame, didn’t complete the other half of the introduction. JKR put out her hand and said, “Hello. I’m Jo.”