Wet, grey, depressing. The morning was a series of events, and no knitting got done. C.  came and told me about Palermo, where she clearly had a grand time. She enjoyed Cooking with the Duchess, who seems to remember me and Archie vividly. Her husband the Duke, Lampedusa’s adopted son,  the model for Tancred in Il Gattopardo, died in May of this year. He was almost as old as I am. I am working on a message, so far only in my head, to send her. I will write in Italian, unnecessarily, as she speaks better English than I do.

And the NHS delivered a wheelchair, self-propelled, so I am mobile, at least somewhat. It’s hard work, but will be good exercise. And a holy friend came and we read a chapter of St Paul’s Letter to the Hebrews. And somehow it got to be lunchtime. 

KD is making great advances with this year’s winter book, Compass. It’s all about colour and involves an Advent calendar with little balls of her Milarrochy tweed. I am too late for that, a good thing — there are already too many little balls of yarn around here, without adding 24 more. But I’m looking forward to the book.  

Wordle: My starters gave me a green vowel and three brown consonants. I struggled mightily, rejecting many a tempting Jean-word that was wrong in one respect or another. I finally thought of an unlikely possibility, and it was right. Persevere with line three is my motto, as I said.

So, three for me, and for Mark and Rachel. Theo and Roger, father and son, scored four. Thomas and Ketki, mother and son., needed five. Alexander notched up a commendable two.