Trump’s video about how wicked it was to storm the Capitol, and how everybody is going to be punished, seems to me the weirdest thing he’s done this week. Admittedly, there’s lots to choose from.

 

The coronavirus situation continues to worsen, especially in London.

 

C. came this morning, because the streets didn’t look too bad, but when we got out there and started to walk, it turned out there was a lot of black ice about (invisible, sinister), even on the path around the garden, so we gave up. Even that much, however, helped my step count. I’m currently at 1900 on the nose, and confident that I can fit in another 100 steps before bedtime.

 

We had Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in the paper yesterday, looking very trim. Was this in connection with a new book? He says he has four dry days a week, and that that’s easier than having only two which I can well believe. I think Rachel and Ed, and also Alexander and Ketki, have similar regimes, although not involving as many as four dry days. I may think along those lines, when we get to February.

 

I’ve knit fearlessly forward. The stripes help – one is constantly eager to reach the next colour.

 

Kate Davies is overflowing with essays these days, sometimes but not always about new items in the shop. Today it’s a very tempting “Green Shoots Tam” in Milarrochy tweed, very vernal, 

Reading

 

I’ve finished Barbara Pym. I can now choose between attempting “Gilead” again, and starting “The Hare with Amber Eyes”. But Friday is Italian-homework day, so I had probably better read Pirandello this evening.