Lizzie came home last night. Rachel phoned. She is suffering quite a bit of pain, but I think all is well. I worried yesterday because in my now quite distant past, appendicitis was a difficult thing to diagnose. I’m pretty sure my appendix was taken out unnecessarily, in wartime Detroit. And, indeed, doctors told Lizzie and Rachel that they could only be about 70% sure, with a woman – the pain could turn out to be gynaecological. But I gather they were satisfied, once they had actually retrieved the appendix and had a look at it.

This modern practice of doctors actually telling patients the truth is much to be welcomed.

And—rugby! It has been a while since I have seen so exciting a match. Knitlass, I hope you’re still here, or have come back for the occasion. Scotland won! Greig Laidlaw is back! The Calcutta Cup, a fortnight hence, is not absolutely out of the question.

I’ve knit another pattern repeat in the centre of the baby shawl. Cardboard is beginning to show through the fifth ball of yarn. Perhaps when it finally expires I’ll count the remaining stitches on each side – I am consuming one stitch from the adjacent borders at the end of each row – and get some idea of how far I have progressed. I am sure I won’t need the eighth ball – possibly not even the seventh.

I am most encouraged by comments yesterday about Anna Maltz. Perhaps my purchase wasn’t absolutely absurd. The book should be here within a few days. I’ll let you know.

The new IK, as I’m sure you know, has a section called Moto Knits. I happened to flip through the fall-winter ’16 Amirisu the other day (the only one I've got),  and saw again their sensational "Harley" vest: tightly knit, perfectly simple, with a diagonal zipper up to the left shoulder. If there’s one thing I’d like to do more than another, it would be to take Franklin’s class on closures. I can’t do zippers.