I haven’t time to write much this evening – I have an Italian lesson tomorrow, concerning the poetry of Leopardi, about which I know nothing. Lessons by Skype --  my tutor is in Rome – have proved unsatisfactory lately. She suggested last week that I load it onto my iPad, a slightly more up-to-date machine than my computer.

This morning I did that. It was not entirely easy, because I had to venture into the Apple shop to get it and had forgotten not only my password but also the answers to my security questions. (How is that possible? Surely the first movie I saw was…? And my parents must have met in…?)  But Apple said I was wrong and thus launched us into a fresh and even more complicated scenario – you’d think I was applying to be a spy. But eventually I succeeded.

However, that left me in a successful but exhausted state in which I have not applied myself to Italian. Scotland won a rather scrappy and unsatisfactory rugby match this afternoon – better than losing! -- while I finished the three-needle bind-off for the shoulders of the Calcutta Cup vest, cut the first armhole steek – I’m used to steeks; they hold no terrors – and started picking up stitches for the armband.

Meg seems to say, pick one up on every round. That seems like an awful lot. I think, tomorrow, freed of other responsibilities, I’ll consult other authorities. I’ve got them all.

Both stripey hat kits turned up today. Now all I’ve got to do is to knit them.

Non-knit

For time-wasting and not-going-to-bed,  I have recently discovered “Unforgotten” on Netflix. It is not really a good idea for a SAD sufferer like myself, being both dark and wet. The first series was full of improbabilities, but deliciously full, as well, of British television and theatre luminaries of 30 years ago. There’s Gemma Jones! And Hannah Gordon! For the second series, we are offered – of names I know– only Douglas Hodge. Would I recognise him?

But, yes – he was easy to spot.