Alexander rang up. He asked sensible questions about what I want to do next. I was allowing myself to sink into gloom because I am not as well or strong as I was a month ago and a return to Drummond Place (and my CATS) seemed increasingly remote. But that is not so, he points out, with live-in care. Alexander has a near neighbour on the shores of Loch Fyne who started out with live-in care when she was in roughly the state of decrepitude which I recently had, and who is now bed-ridden — with a demented husband, to  boot. But still at home.

 So I think we will approach the problem from that perspective. For the sake of the comfort and convenience of the live-in carer, I would like to solve the problem of the downstairs lavatory first. Although I am assured that that is not essential. And the  problem of the hip operation remains to be solved on any hypothesis. Is the hip likely to collapse? How much mobility (if any) am I likely to be able to recover without surgery? How long will recovery take if all goes swimmingly? Have I got enough lifetime to spare?

I didn’t get much knitting done. Indeed, it has been a day of general inactivity. I must take things in hand tomorrow. I have done 12 scallops — one more than this time yesterday. And even so — even although it was only one — I found myself knitting the wrong row, my thots drifting. (There are 16 rows per scallop, each one different.) 

Wordle: three was the general score today. Theo and I lagged behind the others with undistinguished fours.