A disappointing day – all my own fault. There was a piece in the Times this morning about re-reading Shirley Jackson’s “We Have Always lived in the Castle”, her last book. I have read it, it’s there on my Kindle, but not recently, so I re-read it myself. The Times writer was too kind – it’s good, all right, but it’s about madness: depressing and unsettling. I feel I’ve thrown the day away.

 

Rachel rang up, and amidst other fragments of conversation, recommended in glowing terms Clare Chambers’ “Small Pleasures”. Sort of Barbara-Pym-like, Rachel said.

 

We have now embarked upon the month in which both of her new grandchildren are expected. So far she has four granddaughters. We already know that one of the new ones will be a girl. The other remains a mystery.

 

C. came. Today is the day when our most-recently-cancelled cruise was scheduled to depart. The weather is grey and chilly (one might even say, cold) and serious rain is forecast for Monday. Our newly-scheduled cruise sets sail four weeks from today – maybe we’ll be lucky, and get the weather too. 2457 steps today – no hope for 3000.

 

No knitting, again. I sat there feeling cross at myself, and decided to try to cast on some two-colour brioche to see if it would be possible for cruise knitting. But got no further than winding the two skeins of yarn. On the other hand, that's done, and they were quite big skeins.

 

Comment: Jenny (yesterday). Good question! Sometimes I ask it of myself. But the essential answer is that I love Italian, and love Italy, and my very fond of my tutor, and articles about how to look after oneself in old age often recommend language-learning to stave off dementia. And maybe I will wake up one day miraculously rejuvenated, and Archie and I can go to Syracuse.