The Queen’s coffin should be gone by now. Now the fun starts in London.

 

It’s hard not to feel sorry for the team in charge of arrangements for the funeral next Monday. Everybody is meant to come by public transport and to get to the Abbey on Monday by bus. Special busses, of course. They don’t have to take the No. 11. Biden has been exempted from these suggestions. It will be interesting to see whether he can restrain himself to the extent of bringing only one bullet-proof limo. That would be to travel very light, for him. He often has half a dozen or more. Yesterday the papers said he was wondering whether to bring Mr Trump along. (Or maybe it was just journalists wondering whether he was wondering.) Now it turns out that even Mr Biden doesn’t have another invitation at his disposal. Multiply these problems by however many world leaders there are in the world.

 

I was glad – and slightly surprised – to see the King doing one of his public hand-shaking sessions in Belfast.

 

Knitting progresses, although slowly. I’ve cast off the bottom of the Evendoon for the second time, and must now address the neck.

 

My iPad has been behaving oddly today – I hope it’s not planning to die on me. Two or three times, the screen suddenly went blank, as if I had been asking it to reboot when I had only been quietly reading my book. I wasn’t even being pestered by a cat. I’m reading (for the second time) Kate Atkinson’s “Life After Life”. Do read it, if you never have. Or even if, like me, you’ve been there once already.

 

Wordle: A remarkably uniform day. We all scored four (Mark, Rachel, me, Alexander, Ketki) except for Thomas, who got it in three.