However it was that Mr Biden managed a colonoscopy the day after entertaining the Amigos, he must be tough.

 

I have little to report – and no knitting. C. came this morning and we actually got across to the garden – having posted my cheque on the way. All I could do was to sit gasping on the nearest bench for a while – but even that is more than I have done for a while, and I felt the better for it. Shandy, I admire your Luddite ways but I don’t want to return down that path myself.

 

I haven’t seen any cheetahs today. The webcam for Den 2 seemed to be down for several hours. Now I’ve got it back, but the den is empty. I sort of disapprove of zoos, but Rosalie (the mother cheetah) is safe, and her children are safe, and she is free to move them from den to den and into the long grass.

 

Helen is in Thessaloniki with David. I think they have decided against seeing old friends, as Covid cases are rising on the continent and there are lots of vaccine-shirkers in Greece. But yesterday they went to Verginia where Philip of Macedon, Alexander the Great’s father, is buried. The site is a tumulus, very reminiscent of Telly Tubbies. It’s been excavated and museum-ified and one of the exciting things is seeing the gold casket which once held Philip’s ashes – an object which Alexander must once have held in his hands.

 

But Helen’s and my favourite object is this fragment:

 

A little boy (surely) and his dogs. But what we like best is those ancient Greek shoelaces.