Another lively day — Helen’s home. She had a good time, despite cutting her head open on the edge of a marble shelf in the cloakroom of a museum in Alexandria. 

She has now been introduced to all that has been going on in the Downstairs Lavatory here (nobody talks to me), and is pleased with it. We are going to visit a care home tomorrow.

Knitting has advanced, with no further visual effect on the ball of wool. 

My nephew Theo has nipped over to London and assembled a remarkable collection of his relatives for a pub lunch. He has posted a photograph of the assembly on Facebook, and Rachel has also sent me a copy. Someone — Rachel — must sit down and write an identifying memo of them all. It won’t be possible in 20 years, let alone 50. I count 21 or 22 of them — and at that Rachel and Ed’s younger son Joe, with his wife and two children, weren’t there because they had flu.

Wordle: I wasn’t entirely pleased with today’s word. I got it in five. Rachel joined me there. Everybody else managed four. Roger hasn’t been heard from yet. He clearly doesn’t do it first thing in the morning like most of the rest of us.

My two starters gave me one brown vowel. I was determined to think of a real entry for line three — not a Jean-word. It was surprisingly difficult — my starters had eliminated five useful consonants as well as the other vowels. I found one at last. It was virtually useless — another brown. Line four was better.