My sister tried to comment on yesterday’s blog and failed. Several of you have mentioned this problem before, but I haven’t paid much attention. This time I have no comments at all (that could be, of course, because I have become unusually tedious). I hope Blogger will put things right soon. I need your comments,

My sister’s one was to have been a doctorly comment on Sakoolas – the lack of transplantable organs doesn’t necessarily say anything about the accident itself.

A quiet day here. I think one more session will bring the Calcutta Cup scarf to the point where I’ve got to chart Thomas’ initials and embark on the end game. Much of this evening’s time was spent winding the next skein. I’m sure everyone who has a stash cupboard bursting with stash (that is, presumably, everyone) will share my sense of achievement in dispatching a whole skein. Although in fact I didn’t quite get to the point of attaching the new one.

Greek Helen dropped in and walked me around Drummond Place Gardens. It was another fine autumn day. Edinburgh seems to be having the best weather in the UK. She took this picture of my original and best cat:

Lest there be any ill-feeling between them, here is one of Paradox helping me inspect the refrigerator for festering food:

Tamar, I have tried in vain (so far) to find Nigella’s endorsement of my cast-iron slow cooker. I must be looking in the wrong book. The great thing about it is that the cooking-pot can go on the hob, to brown things in advance. And can, indeed, be brought to the table. The instructions say not to wash it, just to scrub with a stiff brush in hot water, dry by hand, and oil. This means that a procrastinator like me has to spring into action after using it.