I have very little to report. I am within a scallop and a half of the end of the first half of the Cameron shawl edging. Tomorrow should see it done, barring catastrophe. I had a good Italian lesson this morning – Dante is wonderful! I didn’t go out – that’s bad. My cleaner has dashed back to Roumania because her mother-in-law is ill. That’s very bad – for me, as well as for the mother-in-law. (Daniela communicates such news to Greek Helen, in Greek, and Helen passes it on to me. They knew each other first in Athens.)

And Venice has cancelled the Carnival, for fear of the Coronavirus. This is serious indeed. No one quite seems to know how it got to Italy. It’s clearly highly infectious. There is a thoroughly delightful columnist in the Times named Melanie Reid. She said yesterday that if it gets here, she wants to be put outside to die. No hospitals. She is likely to die anyway, if she gets it, being paraplegic ever since she was thrown over the head of her horse. As am I, being old. But maybe it won’t get here.

Melanie Reid’s book “The Life I Fell Out Of” is very good.

No comments yesterday. I must be becoming as dull as I feel.

Today’s rugby was England v. Ireland. England, predictably, won.