A pleasant day. I didn’t walk – that was cowardly. Alexander came, and we talked about Wordle. Mercifully, I had done it in four this morning, after a run of failures. It seemed pleasanter to go on sitting there talking. The weather was good. I must exert myself tomorrow.

 

I continued knitting Machu Picchu, and it continued not to increase in length. My fancy new knitting needles haven’t arrived. Slight stirrings of anxiety. But I found a humble one of the right size and will tomorrow (insh’Allah) cast on Mary Lou’s “Aroon” for the first of the 2022 babies – a seventh London great-granddaughter.

 

I ordered a Feliway for Perdita, and am pondering where to plug it in. She often sleeps – she did today – half-way along the hall, far from a suitable power point. The closest one would be the one Daniella uses for the ironing. I could put it in the spare room, which Perdita often claims as her own. I’m afraid I don’t believe in Feliway anyway. I’m glad they didn’t prescribe pills, which I would have found it impossible to administer. Or ointment, which might have been bad for Perdita. She would have eluded any protective bandage in order to lick it. I hope she enjoyed the end of yesterday’s ordeal as much as I did.

 

Helen says her dog Farouk sits down and tips his head back when she tells him it’s time for his pill.

 

While knitting, I watched Queer Joe, on the “hand” of yarn; Franklin, on life in Paris (he really does seem to be settling in well); and the first portion of the new Fruity Knitting (Andrea is in her native Australia). You’d think that might be enough to get Machu Picchu up to the armhole, but no.