The 25-hour day, usually a fave, has rather dragged this year.

 

We spent a year once (1960-61) in Northampton, Mass. My husband was teaching at Smith. There was a couple there, both faculty. She had a pile of marking to do that Sunday, and was hard pressed. At the end of the afternoon her husband came in and put a clock down in front of her: showing the new time. She had forgotten. A whole extra hour! It remains, after all these years, the most generous and loving husbandly gesture I have ever heard of.

 

I got up early (probably why the day has dragged), watched quite an interesting Andrew Marr show, knit steadfastly forward on Machu Picchu. At least I have learned to spell it.

 

He interviewed Greta Thunberg – she speaks very simply and lucidly in her second (or third, or fourth) language.

 

We also had a glimpse of Biden’s preposterous motorcade on his way to see the Pope. Eight, or perhaps sixteen, huge black limousines all of which had been flown in. So much for climate change. I wonder if he’s had them flown on to Glasgow. They'll certainly have to be flown home. I get the impression that Biden very much enjoys being King of the Castle, when abroad – they all must, to a considerable extent, but some of them have an endearing soupcon of modesty to go with it (Obama, Carter, perhaps even the Bushes).