Cold, very.

  Sylvia’s funeral is tomorrow. This time last week she was busy with Thanksgiving.

   A busy day here. Wafa is back, and has taken over. A nice man has come and exposed the leaking pipe in the downstairs lavatory — remember that? — so that another nice man can come on Friday and mend it. 

  I am continuing to read The Running Grave, the new JK Rowling. I had completely failed to notice how utterly enormous it is. It feels as if I ought to be 75% of the way through at least. The truth is 41%. She had better be lurking with a couple of hats, at least, each containing a first-rate rabbit, or I may be forced to give up.

   Not much knitting. I made a brioche swatch. That helped somewhat. I simplified the make-one-lefts and make-one-rights in the actual pattern. I started yet again. My only ambition now is to progress far enough that I can sweep past mistakes. 

   Wordle: five for me and Roger and Rachel, four for Alexander and Mark, three for Ketki and Thomas. No news from Theo. His mother says that he has not really recovered from the Covid that kept him away from Thanksgiving in London.