Another good day. Perhaps I am gradually recovering from England. My personal trainer came – I had to put her off last week; I was too feeble. This time I could scarcely drag myself to the door, but, as ever, felt vastly rejuvenated after our session. I am determined to do a 10-15 minute exercise session every day on my own, as well as circumnavigating the garden. We shall see.

But tomorrow Greek Helen is taking me to a Point of Cultural Interest.

And I am perhaps two and a half rows forrad’er with the Spring Shawl. The final lace diamonds are done – nothing, now, except the end game.

Forrad’er, too, with “Wives and Daughters”. That is an interesting comparison, Shandy, with my beloved “Mansfield Park”. You set me thinking again about the wonderful passage in which almost the whole party goes to call on Mr Rushworth and his mother. Austen is as good as Evelyn Waugh there, at reporting what people do and say and allowing us to understand what they think and feel.

Mary Lou, do seek out William Trevor.

I've now got some wedding photographs in my telephone, but can't figure out how to get them out into the real world. I'll get Archie on the job.