The cheetahs are quiet at the moment.

 

Alexander came to see me today, completely unexpected so there was no bright conversation prepared. He is cowering in terror, of course, at the prospect of the Climate Change beano which is about to be unleashed on Glasgow. They can’t just retreat to Loch Fyne because Thomas is still at school.

 

Not much news here. I think I am perhaps slightly better. I got my instruction kit for the colonoscopy. It’s a whole month away. All I have to do for now is put it in a safe place. I think Helen will be here to shepherd me though the ordeal. Her husband David has had several because of having diverticulitis. I think in the end he had part of his gut removed, like the Pope. It’s comforting having company – including you, Tamar. Misery loves it, indeed.

 

I knit a few more rounds of the Calcutta Cup vest. At least wee Hamish’s circumference is less daunting than an adult’s. Thank you for your encouragement about the sweaters I’m tempted to buy yarn for.

 

And I’ve started reading The Thursday Murder Club. You – all – were right to recommend it. It’s delightful, and not depressing, as so much else that I read these days seems to be. It’s interesting that the question of money is front and centre, with the developer of the retirement village making big bucks from it, and being an unattractive character. I went with my mother once when she was confronting the director of Meadow Lakes about a rise in the monthly fee which took it beyond her planning. He had a lot in common with Osman’s character – big, chunky gold jewellery.