Rachel rang up today. Down there in London, she said, it was raining but warm. Here it’s resolutely grey, no rain – which would be welcome – and bitter cold. Evelyn Waugh’s “biting cold mid-June morning” comes to mind, as often. Both of Rachel’s prospective grandchildren are now full term – Joe’s wife Becca is three or four days past her date; Thomas’ wife Lucy still has a week to go.

 

I’m very weak again. Why? C. and I got once around the garden. 2378 steps, which could be worse. We talked of how to get to Oban for our cruise. It’s easy but tedious by train, but I gather that isn’t a serious option.

 

It looks as if the SNP has failed to get an overall majority. That’s good news – but the wretched Greens (9 seats) are also in favour of independence, so storm clouds continue to gather. My own constituency was previously Conservative – Ruth Davidson herself – but has gone SNP. One of their heavyweights was standing here, and the opposition (for which I voted) was pretty lightweight, so it’s not surprising.

 

There’s an article in the new New Yorker about Ms Sturgeon and independence and things. No conclusions, but clear and informative.

 

It’s interesting, in a sad sort of way, how different the results are in the three nations – Conservative in England, Labour in Wales, SNP here. I feel we are gently drifting apart.

 

There’s also an article about knitting in the “How To Spend It” section of today’s Financial Times. That one isn’t very informative. It runs up against – but doesn’t really confront – the old problem, that hand knitting takes so long that it isn’t economic unless you can exploit the poor in some way, who are so glad to have the income and to be praised for their skills that they are willing to work for absurd hourly rates. We are fortunate to have a craft with which love can be so simply expressed.

 

All of which lets me postpone saying that I haven’t done any knitting again today. Those socks are all ready for the Andrew Marr show tomorrow morning. Which should be interesting.

 

Reading

 

I’ve finished Clare Chambers’ “A Dry Spell”, and enjoyed it. Rachel says I mustn’t read a newly-discovered author all at once, and she’s probably right. I’ve decided to abandon “I Vicere” – it’s too big. What I need is a faster-moving Italian novel.