Grey and chilly. Shakespeare’s birthday, and my father’s.

 

Every Sunday, these days, I wake up feeling that Mass-going is too much for me, and every Sunday, so far, I have managed to get dressed and brush my hair, and C has come early and managed all the rest, and I have hugely enjoyed the outing. We had an interesting sermon this morning, too, about predestination.

 

I have spent the rest of the day in blissful idleness. Perhaps a bit of knitting this evening?

 

Ella Gordon has written a message? blog entry? which starts off pleasantly enough about puffins – they are smaller than I thought, according to her – but goes on to say that a huge windfarm is-being installed in the centre of the Shetland mainland. We have a small one on the hills between Kirkmichael and Alyth (if you drive over the hills instead of going around by the road). Small, in that the windmills are relatively few in number. Each one is huge and I find them terrifying. Like “North by Northwest”. It is dreadful to think of Shetland being covered with such things.

 

My great-grandson is named Freddie Robert Edward Ogden. “Edward” of course is Rachel’s husband’s name, and since Freddie is almost certain to be the only one to carry the Ogden name forward another generation, it’s nice that he’s named Edward, too.

 

Wordle: I had a tough time this morning, and scraped home with six. I was the first one to post, of our little group, and was just about to add a note to my grid saying that I thought it was a toughie, when Mark logged in with a three. So I kept silent. Not everybody did as well as Mark. Roger, Alexander and Ketki needed five. Theo was another three. There were fours elsewhere. I couldn’t think of a qualifying word for the vital line three – I had a green vowel, and two browns, from my starters – so I gave up and entered a Jean-word. That’s always a mistake.