The longest day. It's all downhill from here.

I continue to improve, or at any rate not to get any worse. Helen came this morning and we got part-way around the garden. It’s a start.

 

And I knit a bit more. I’m not far now from the first heel of those Kaffe Fassett socks – and the leg is quite a long one.

 

Fruity Knitting is back, with an episode about Bohus Stickning. I first heard of it in Sheila McGregor’s “Traditional Scandinavian Knitting”, and haven’t made much progress with it since. Andrew’s absence is a dreadful lack, both in the sense that Andrea’s pain is terrible to behold and that his cheerful contribution is irreplaceable.

 

Cruise:

 

My final report:

 “Sunshine again. Tobermory in the morning. I've been there once, didn't attempt it, didn't regret it. Castle Duart this afternoon. Again, I didn't attempt it. Far too much up-hill-ery. But this one I was slightly sorry about.

 

Alan the bird man saw his golden eagle. He didn't get a photograph, alas”

 

He did, in the morning, point out to me where his parents met: adjacent terrace houses in Tobermory. One of them was his mother’s family house. His father, a young schoolmaster, boarded in the other.

 

He (Alan) was a thoroughly expert bird man, and I soon abandoned my book. I have at least, thanks to him, seen a bonxie, Shandy. He took a brilliant photograph of one coming in to land on the water. I watched one – perhaps that very bird – bobbing about while gulls tried to torment it. The bonxie knew it was boss. And I learned – or, at least, was told – never to say “seagull”. There are half a dozen different gulls, of which the “common gull” is far from the most common.

C.'s photographs illustrate our day rather well:

Tobermory:

And Castle Duart. Our skipper said he has been calling rhere for 20 years and has never seen it without scaffolding: