I watched the Queen’s Speech live this morning. Whatever ground Britain may have lost in the world, there’s no doubt that England – I think that’s the mot juste – does that sort of thing rather well. Bow, ye lower middle classes! Bow ye tradesmen! Bow ye masses! (That’s Gilbert and Sullivan: some things haven’t changed.)

And the Queen is splendid. At 93, I think she walks more boldly than I do (seven years her junior). She speaks with a calm, firm voice, and managed the sit-to-stand at the end (an exercise I am meant to do daily, and sometimes do) with aplomb – just a brief, steadying hand on the leftmost armrest of the throne. Perhaps there is a technical word for the armrest of a throne.

I got some knitting done, but also had Perdita to wrestle with.

Sad news: Andrew and Andrea are ill, and there will be no episode tomorrow. Maybe later in the week. It was good of them to tell us. I suspect they are suffering from stress and overwork, and hope they will take it easy for a bit and not worry about us.

The new VK turned up this morning – always a surprise, somehow or other. This issue is often the best of the year – and this one is, I think, a corker. I have only skimmed it so far, but there are several patterns I would happily cast on this evening if I didn’t have other responsibilities: 8, 7, 6.

There’s an article about Jeanette Sloan. I’ve only speed-read it so far, but I don’t think it mentions that she used to run an LYS here in Edinburgh, on the south side, near the Meadows. I was there often enough that I look on her as a friend, although that is a bit presumptuous of me. Then – the LYS has closed – she became a columnist on Knitting magazine. And since then, I learn from the VK article, she has been seriously ill and seems to be devoted mostly to design these days.

Non-knit

A columnist in the Times this morning says that the young man who died in the accident involving Mrs Sakoolas had no organs left in a fit state for transplant, from which she (the columnist) concludes that Mrs Sakoolas was proceeding fairly briskly along the wrong side of the road. Or maybe they both were?