We had a lovely birthday party for Helen yesterday. I got home far too tired to write, as I hoped you guessed. There was no one there except the five members of her immediate family, me, and an old friend whom I think perhaps both Helen and David knew in Cairo before they met each other. Something like that.

 

Mungo cooked a meal of restaurant quality.  Fergus was sous-chef and Archie washed up. We started with an interesting soup which I think was based on chestnuts. Then toast, with something amusing and delicious to spread on it. The main course was pilaf accompanied by a superb aubergine-based something. I think perhaps he said it was an Ottolenghi recipe. The old friend had brought two puddings, one of them Eton Mess, but I was too tired and too well-fed to stay for more.

 

And still no knitting. Poor Paradox is in heat – Helen is determined to have her spayed as soon as this is over, and I suppose she’s right. One of the characteristics of that condition is that she picks up my knitting and carries it about the house, with the predictable disastrous results. Daniela rescued it this morning, and has wound the loose yarn around the ball far too tightly. So I should have knit at least that much today, but didn’t Tomorrow, I hope.

 

Helen came, and we walked as far as the garden. It was a grey day, with a breath of spring.

 

Wordle: I’m not having a very distinguished month – 6 yesterday, 5 today. At least, no failures so far. Today’s word is tough but fair. Ketki and Theo joined me with five. Otherwise it was fours all around except for Mark’s brilliant three.