What a world! Goodness gracious me! I’ve told London that I probably won’t be coming to the christening next week. Staying away is called "social distancing" apparently. Weavinfool, you’ll be vulnerable, looking after grandsons. You know that. But I don’t regard you as particularly elderly. Mr Trump is crazy. We all know that.

I am much reminded of The Masque of the Red Death. Mr Trump and Prince Prospero would find they had a lot in common.

I’m beginning to have twinges of anxiety about my cruise in May. Twelve passengers, four crew: we’ll be fine. I’ve had a cheerful email from the Majestic Line, looking forward to the new season and recommending themselves as a “staycation”. But I’m a bit anxious – not about going, but about being allowed to go.

AND I’ve lost my key to Drummond Place Gardens, just as the first wild garlic is ready to harvest. I had it on Tuesday.

Reading

Thank you for your comment, Joe. Archie is coming tomorrow, and will lend me his copy of “House of Leaves”. I’m not promising to read it all the way through, but I’ll have a go. I enjoyed Nabokov’s “Pale Fire” many decades ago (if I’ve got the right title). A narrative poem, with notes, and you need both for the story. Nabokov himself suggested you buy two copies.

I persevere with Trollope. Another odd thing about “Mr Scarborough’s Family" is that the author doesn’t seem to like any of his characters. There is a bit of young love, but so far the participants are relatively minor characters, offstage for much of the time.

And – I nearly forgot – I’m doing row 60 of the Cameron Shawl borders.