A better day, on the whole. The weather is  a bit cooler, and I did some knitting. And tonight, if all goes well, Greek Helen and her family will be back in Scotland and I’ll see them tomorrow. My cleaner has gone home to Romania for a month. I hope Archie can take up the slack.

Mary Lou, the beautiful yarn from Colonsay (link yesterday) is, in one sense, four skeins of the same colour (nettles?) but in fact all four are slightly different. It’s quite heavy – worsted weight? perhaps. And rather rough and homely. I think a nice cosy hat is the only serious possibility.

Health: I will look at sports drinks such as Gatorade in the supermarket tomorrow, and read the labels carefully for news about electrolyte balance. I put a banana in today’s smoothie. And I will cautiously investigate acupuncture – I’m not averse to the idea.

I continue to enjoy Trollope’s autobiography immensely. It’s curious that he doesn’t mention Mrs Gaskell. It’s not that he’s biased against women – he gives Jane Austen and George Eliot the high places they deserve (although he ranks Thackeray slightly above Eliot), and discusses some young female authors of whom I’ve never heard. But no Gaskell.

And then it was all to be blown to bits, not much later, by the Great War and Virginia Wolff and James Joyce and TS Eliot.

Peggy, I think I might suggest Barchester Towers to start with – but you’ve almost certainly tried that. He tells a good story about overhearing two men in his club, complaining about the way he re-uses characters from book to book. Finally he could bear it no longer, leapt up and introduced himself, and promised to kill Mrs Proudie that very week.

Our new Prime Minister was in Edinburgh today. I don't think he has the vaguest idea about Scotland, and fear that he will hasten the end of the Union.