Another grey, cold, wet day. Helen has been working here again. No knitting. I spent a fair amount of time asleep in my chair. I must pull myself together.

 There was a story in the paper yesterday about a farmer burning the wool clip. A few decades ago it was worth a penny or two, even to a farmer who raised sheep for food. It would be used for carpets and insulation.

  But then artificial fabrics took over those functions. I always assumed that merinos — whose fleeces are much desired for garments, from knitting wool to Saville Row — weren’t happy in Britain because the weather wasn’t good for their delicate chests. But yesterday’s paper suggests that merinos are too small to be very useful as a food crop. 

   I wonder how the thickness of Shetland lace yarn — measured in microns — compares to fine Merino. Industrious googling would probably tell me.

   Wordle: my starters gave me two green consonants and two brown vowels. It was still something of a struggle to think of a qualifying word. I got one at last. It didn’t seem very likely but it was right. So, three for me, always a welcome score.

But everybody else got three as well except for Thomas and Roger, who had fours, so I guess it counts as easy.