The Covid numbers are scary.

 

My grandson Joe in London has it, or so his mother Rachel says. He is in bed with total feebleness (sounds like me). He’s done a home test, and it’s positive. Otherwise he has had no contact with drs, I gather: which presumably means he doesn’t show up on the statistics. I wonder how many other sufferers are in that category?

 

It was grand having James here. He went off on the train this morning. Apart from anything else, it was a comfort in the ever-encroaching darkness not to have to worry quite so much about falling. For three nights, I could shout for James. He and I got all the way around the garden yesterday; Daniela and I did so again this morning. Maybe I’m a teeny bit stronger?

 

Almost no knitting, but I did a bit this morning, listening to the new Americast.

 

YouTube sends me lots of messages about my “friends” these days, half a dozen a day. But nothing from Franklin. Until recently, his were the only messages that came through to my in-box.