I sat down at the computer just now, and looked up as usual at the BT Hub – is that its proper name? – on top of the filing cabinet, with its comforting blue line – and it wasn’t there. My connection with the world. It was on the floor beside the filing cabinet, of course, and (thank goodness) none the worse for its adventure. So whose fault was that? Nobody’s saying.

 

I saw the doctor this morning, and he says I’m fine.

 

I got a good deal of packing done this afternoon – the bit that consists of flinging into the suitcase things that I never wear when  slouching about the house. The knitty-gritty – sponge bag, knitting, book, iPad – will have to wait for tomorrow, but I’ve got all day. The “off” is at 10:30 on Saturday. C’s friend Ian is going to drive us to Oban again, in his big comfortable car. It’s a long and a fairly tedious journey.

I probably won't post again until the weekend of the 28th.

 

I’ve done a bit more sock. At least I’m knitting.

 

Someone should remind Mr Biden of the sound principle: when you find you’re in a hole, stop digging.