Somewhat better. I did my two circuits of Drummond Place Gardens. I finished Archie’s socks and in the afternoon Archie himself came to put the recycling out. It goes out fortnightly, and I have missed two: one for Wimbledon, one for Kirkmichael, so there's lots:

It looks a bit long in the foot. That’s easily corrected, in a top-down sock. I'll see what he thinks, after a bit. And I don’t know how that hole came about. I have fixed it. The yarn was broken. Moth? Cat? A snag?

Tomorrow Archie and his brothers and I will have a mid-afternoon lunch at Dishoom, when Archie finishes work, and then, I hope, a bit of a rest before taking a taxi to Godot. A busy day. And getting up Dublin Street to Dishoom is a strenuous walk – it will be good for me, but...

Comments

Interesting about weather, Chris. European weather often follows on behind American, but, clearly, not always. '62-63 was a savage winter here  -- the pregnancy that produced Helen gives me several secure points to remember it by. The last severe winter we had here was ’10-11 when my husband’s sister was dying.

Janet, my guess is that hiding under the desks to avoid nuclear annihilation during the Cuban Missile Crisis was a technique left over from WWII because they couldn’t think of anything else to do.

My mother was in Dallas that week, where her own mother was seriously ill. She didn’t notice what was happening, and in a few conversations on the subject subsequently, confused the Missile Crisis with the Bay of Pigs. And I will never know whether family anxieties obscured all else for her that week, or whether Texas is so far away and so big that they weren’t terrified the way we were in the centres of civilisation.

I can remember waking up and hearing the milkman’s horse in the street and thinking, well, it hasn’t happened yet.