No need for an Internet cafe. I have my beloved iPad ever to hand. I don’t like composing on its virtual keyboard, but it can be done.

We’re getting on fine. The cats are completely free and I don’t even worry about them. Helen and her husband and their sons and their dog have gone away. The James Mileses are now here — no dog. Tomorrow we are going to St Andrews, partly for touristic interest, partly because their younger daughter Kirsty might consider it as a university for her future.

And Saturday is Games Day. I don’t care about much except seeing the baronet lead the procession across the bridge and into the field, drawn sword in hand, feather in cap. He is almost as old as I am, and it’s not a cardboard sword. The feather means he is our chieftain.

And I have been knitting the scarf. It feels strange in my hands, all right, after all that cobweb weight. 

I think I told you that Elizabeth Johnston said, during our lace class during the Shetland Wool Adventure, that one mustn’t switch back and forth to a heavier project while knitting a fine shawl. I suspect she’s right, but I need to get this done. Curled on my lap it feels as heavy and comfortable as a cat, but I had James hang it around his neck today -  since he is almost as tall as Thomas Miles for whom it is destined— and clearly I’ve got some way to go. 

I’ve done a bit of walking, not much. It is odd to be here where I used to be so strong.

Reading

I’ve finished The Last September. It ends sadly, as was predictable throughout. Then I read Melanie Ried’s “The World I Fell Out Of”, about disability. Her horse refused a jump, and her world changed for the worse forever. She writes wonderfully, with her one imperfectly functioning hand. But that is enough gloom for now. I have retreated to Trollope: The Eustace Diamonds.