Here we are, safely back. A good time was had by all, in good weather. The cats were completely free, except that we shut them in at night. Paradox turns out to be a fearsome mouser. We stopped counting when the tally moved into double figures. Her prey was mostly field mice, Timmy Willies not Johnny Town Mice. (The two won’t inhabit the same house, as Beatrix Potter implies – but Timmy Willy can do a lot of damage.) She got a lizard one day, but we took that away from her.

She came back from her early morning walk a couple of times wet and muddy, and I hoped that meant hanky panky in the paddock. (I’d love to have one box of kittens before she’s spayed.) It’s much more likely to mean that she had been hunting in the grass while the dew was on it. But I won’t let her be spayed until all hope is gone.

And the Games were fine. I’ve got a picture for you of the baronet leading the pipe band across the bridge, but I’ll have to re-charge my telephone before you can see it.

I knit a bit more scarf, but didn’t finish it. I haven’t knit since we got back yesterday, on anything.

I’m sure if you get to know any village on earth well enough, stories will begin to unfold like novels. Our nearest neighbours are involved in one – Trollope would have loved it. Inheritance, animosity, a big house, sisters of marriageable age, sudden death. The family has been there for more than a century. The house is about to be sold at the wish of a man who is not related to them in blood, but who holds a life-rent.

I’m reading the Eustace Diamonds. Beth, I sympathise with your dislike of it but will persevere.

This has been a momentous day in British politics. I even hoped for a while this morning that the Queen would say No, Mr Johnson, I will not prorogue parliament. I’m glad at least that the Privy Council travelled to her at Balmoral, rather than vice versa. I think she values that holiday. Princess Diana first marked herself as a renegade, I think, by hating the place.