Not too bad a day. This time I did get out, and the effort has flattened me. I think I’ll opt for being wheeled to supper.

   Helen and David came to see me, on their way back from the airport, I thilnk, David having just arrived from Thessaloniki. They are going for a week to visit his mother, handing over Paradox to her new owner on the way.

  Your comment frightened me, Mary Lou, because it coincides with a worry of my own. I don’t think plumbing work has cracked the gas pipe, because they are so far away from each other at either end in a house which is long like a railway carriage  But I wonder if both couldn’t have been damaged by building work below — not in Mr Downstairs’ flat but in one mysteriously next to it, below us. 

  Knitting progresses well, except that I got involved in a mysterious mess this morning as a result of which the fagotting is less than perfect at one spot — the first such lapse on this final side of the shawl. I’m worrying away now about whether I will have replacement knitting in time.

   I’ve sent KD’s book “Davaar” home with Helen. There is little more to tell you about it. The island is uninhabited.  A couple of holiday lets are available, one of them — where Kate and her husband lodged — a former WWII lookout post. And in a cave someone — a known someone — painted a Crucifixion in the mid-nineteenth century. It quite promptly became and has remained a place of pilgrimage. 

   I’ve read a bit more of “Norway’s Knitted Heritage”. It continues to be very thorough, but I have hit on nothing else to report here yet.

   Wordle: another one that saw us widely divergent. Poor Roger had grn, ???, grn, ???, grn for his very first line, and eventually scraped home with six. Thomas and Mark had two. Ketki, Alexander and Theo scored three. Rachel and I had four.