Well, here I am, happy but weary. James and his family are on their way to Loch Fyne, Helen to Kirkmichael with a handful of school friends, even my beloved Romanian cleaners aren’t here (one in Romania, the other just back from there, just about to come out of quarantine – but she has tested positive). So it’s me and the cats for what feels like an indefinite future. Nor have I prepared for tomorrow’s Italian lesson.

 

Or done any knitting. I read yesterday in one of those medical articles that turning away from a familiar and beloved hobby can be a preliminary sign of dementia, so I’d better get back to it tomorrow. I have at least recovered wee Hamish’s Calcutta Cup vest from the waste yarn I put it on so that I could try it on him a fortnight ago, AND re-found the all-over pattern and my place in it.

 

Comments

 

Thank you for your help with the Prodigal Son. I remain sore that nobody came to tell me my brother was home. There was plenty of time – you can’t kill and dress and roast a calf in half an hour; and apparently there were plenty of servants to go around and invite the neighbours in. Can’t I be treated as a member of the family?

 

Andrea, bless you especially for your comment. St Thomas More wrote to his wife and daughter, not long before his beheading, “We shall meet merrily in heaven”. If he could be confident at such a moment, I think we can be too.