1706 steps so far today. It snowed in the night, and looked icy and treacherous this morning, so I have been walking in the house, and it seems to take longer. I’ll keep at it, however, until I reach at least 2000.

 

The knitting of edging onto Gudrun’s hap seemed to continue well, until….

 

I saw the marker for the first corner creeping into view, and so I counted the remaining stitches between me and it. There were far too many. I went back to the border chart, multiplied the 18 stitches of the pattern repeat by 6 (because that’s how often it was repeated, at the end) and counted the squares at either end of the repeats and added the 24 stitches thus obtained. The answer coincided with the number of stitches in fact present. So, why…

 

When I finished knitting the borders, I turned back in the pattern to the section called Edging. The pattern is written out line by line, as well as being available on a chart, so there is a certain amount of to’ing and fro’ing. This morning, turning it back and forth in bewilderment, I discovered a paragraph, at the end of the written instructions, called Decrease rnd. I should have removed 20 stitches per side: that’s quite a few. Two and a half scallops.

 

I have decided to forge ahead. Here is a slightly blurry picture of a section of edging. It looks acceptable. I’ve got an abundance of yarn, for some reason. There’ll still be plenty for a parental hat, even with an extra 80 stitches to eliminate. And I remember that last time I was slightly disappointed with the smallness of the shawl, despite vigorous blocking. This might help.

 

And here is a picture of Perdita, sleeping on the Evandoon on the adjacent chair. I shouldn’t have let her do that.

 

So that was today’s excitement.

 

There was a message today from Arne and Carlos. Carlos is in a lung hospital being treated for “long Covid”. It sounds incredibly luxurious – four delicious meals a day and (in normal circumstances; not now) a swimming pool. All free, part of Norwegian health care. He thinks he’s getting better. Some of us have been worrying about their finances, but Carlos says that they are fine and that we should send any such money to Andrew and Andrea. That was a generous thought, on his part.

 

Life

 

My sister and her husband, in Maryland just outside DC, have vaccination appts for the 30^th. Pfizer. Rachel says her arm is slightly sore, after having hers yesterday.

 

I think I’m a bit sceptical about whether vaccination is going to make any difference. But surely we should know soon. The vaccine is being given to the most vulnerable – that is, to those statistically most likely to need hospitalisation, and to die. So if vaccination “works”, those numbers should start going down fairly steeply within a month or so. Shouldn’t they? Hospitals here are getting pretty desperate.

 

Reading

 

I enjoyed Nabokov on “Mansfield Park”. I’ll read the beginning and the end essays, as you suggest, Kristen. Shandy, I think an episode of great importance, often overlooked, is the way Mary Crawford, believing – because he told her so – that her brother Henry is trying to get Fanny in love with him as an adventure to amuse himself; and knowing Fanny well for the timid and retiring soul she is; nevertheless encourages Fanny to take Henry seriously. She is what I think can be called a traitor to her sex. Maybe it’s even Jane Austen’s fault for not underlining Mary's wickedness a bit more.

 

I’ve been reading Dante today, to steal a march on Saturday’s lesson.

 

Exciting news: my GP’s practice nurse rang up today with my vaccination appointment – next Tuesday afternoon. It will be the Astra Zeneca one, I am sure. Rachel, in London, had Pfizer.

 

1833 steps so far today. I’ll pass 2000 by bedtime, but not by much. I reached 2500 yesterday.

 

I’m in the saddle with my hap edging – eight done so far (of the 14 needed for the first side), without disaster. That means I can add four to the progress bar n the right. I remain profoundly anxious about the possibility of mind-wandering, and am, on the whole, only sitting down to do one at a time. Or maybe two. 

Mary Lou, that is a good idea about contacting Kathy’s Knits to find someone who will block it for a fee. I’m not worried about squaring up to measurements, but I do want every individual point to have its pin or blocking wire.

 

I used to have blocking wires but didn’t get on well with them, and gave them to a friend.

 

I’ve stopped worrying about income tax, too. Alexander found a link on the HMRC website to a page called “Check if you need to send a Self Assessment tax return”. I did check, and it said I didn’t need to. They know where I live. They wrote to me when my husband died, and they send me a Tax Code every year. I think they would have sent a letter if they wanted a tax return. I will give serious thought, however, to finding a congenial accountant to help before this time next year.

 

Reading

 

I see that Amazon will sell me Nabokov’s “Lectures in Literature”. I think I must get it, for Mansfield’s Park’s sake. I don’t forget having read that one. Thank you, Kirsten. Lady Bertram is indeed a magnificent study in doing nothing.

 

I’m still reading McWilliams, still enjoying it, although it is sad. She lives near here, and is said to have expressed admiration for the plants on my doorstep during one of her early-morning walks.

 

2207 steps, so far today. A bit dim, by recent standards.

 

Progress, however, with the hap. You will remember that I left you yesterday with a large, unwanted hole in the second scallop. I started off today, in the bright sunshine, carefully tinking – but it never came right, and I wound up frogging the lot and starting again, from the beginning -- for the fourth time, I think. This time I’ve got it (at least reasonably) straight, and have done four scallops. I might hope for a couple more this evening. There are 14 per side – and since I still have the corner markers in place, I’ll be able to juggle a bit if necessary. The pattern is awfully easy, and now that I have mastered it (I hope), the danger will lie in the wandering of attention. And it’s too late to resort to frogging.

 

Tamar, that’s a brilliant idea, to knit a hat for a parent in the left-over shawl colours. When the shawl is finished (how am I to manage the blocking?) I must go straight on to the Pollywog for the other baby – they are due almost simultaneously, in May. But there may still be time for a hat, if things continue to go forward as they seem to be doing at the moment.

 

 I’ve spent much of today worrying about income tax. Do I have to file a return? They haven’t got in touch to tell me so. (Much tax is deducted from my pension before it ever reaches me.) (Maybe that’s enough.) Still, I’ve now got the bit between my teeth. I’ll continue calculating and worrying tomorrow. The relative clear-headedness of Dry January is probably an asset.

Today's big news, however, is neither hap nor income tax: Rachel is to be vaccinated tomorrow! She works at Kings College Hospital, although not in a medical capacity and not anywhere near patients. It sounds from her account as if there are some doses left over somewhere which are being prudently used up. There's still no further news from my GP.

 

Reading

 

I’ve gone forward with McWilliam’s “What to Look For in Winter”. It’s a curious and unusual autobiography. She is a novelist. Maybe I ought to have a look at some of her other books. She is clearly a curious and unusual woman.

 

2477 steps – not bad.

 

And I’ve finished the borders on Gudrun’s hap, and started on the edging. It is as simple an edging as it is possible to conceive, and I’m having a terrible time with it. I got the first scallop done, finally, on the fourth attempt, and have just seen a huge hole where a hole shouldn’t be, in the second. Maybe I’ve knit enough for today.

 

I’m going to have lots of yarn left over. It’s a pity it’s hand-wash-only. It would be fun to knit the other baby’s Polliwog (Mary Lou’s pattern, in “Drop Dead Easy Knits”) in the same yarn. They’ll be first cousins. The Polliwog wants sport weight yarn. I think what I did last time was to use sock yarn, for washability; stitch numbers for the largest size; and measurements for the smallest. It worked out surprisingly well.

 

I had a nice Zoomtime with my sister this morning.

 

Reading

 

I’m enjoying Candia McWilliam’s “What to Look For in Winter”. There’s much sadness in it, though. She has a strange affliction which renders her almost blind – not that her eyes can’t see, but that she can’t open them properly. She’s two years older than my Rachel – not what you’d call old. I don’t know how I could have forgotten the book so completely. Our house is mentioned in it, and people I know. Perhaps when I made that list some time ago of my 10 favourite books, they were chosen because they were the only ones I could actually remember having read.

 

Thank you for your remarks about Madeline Stanhope (in “Barchester Towers”), Shandy. I wouldn’t call that remarkable passage about her child “racist” – the little girl’s only offence is to be half-Italian. The author’s hostility is directed at whoever – presumably Madeline – dressed her up in such ridiculous clothes. You are right to contrast that scene with Eleanor’s constant cuddling of her baby. I wonder if they took him along on the honeymoon – Trollope doesn’t tell us that.

 

I’m glad we’ve driven you to “The Way We Live Now”, Janet. That’s a good one.

 

2735 steps so far today – not too bad. Only one circuit of the garden, but a certain amount of pottering around in the kitchen. And I’ve reached round 47 (of 50) of the borders of Gudrun’s hap. If I can do a bit more this evening, I might be able to finish the borders tomorrow. I’ve been doing better at post-blog evening knitting since embarking on my Dry January.

 

A propos of which:  (a) the man who delivered my Tesco order today expressed polite surprise that it contained no cider. (Oh, dear!) And (b) my sister and her husband are doing Dry January too, but have promised themselves a glass of champagne late on Wednesday afternoon, if all has gone well. Seems reasonable. We’re going to meet by Zoom tomorrow.

 

Scottish doctors have complained collectively about patchy and unreliable supplies of vaccine. They can’t assign appointments and send out letters if they don’t know whether they’ll have the stuff.

 

Reading

 

Despite the activities chronicled above, I spent much of today huddled over my iPad, and have finished the re-read of “Barchester Towers”. I enjoyed the passage you mention, Shandy, where ivy reappears – not so much ivy, indeed, as plants that rely on each other. Tropeolum speciosum climbing through rhododendrons, for instance, although Trollope doesn’t mention that one.

 

I’m not going to be able to say anything about Madeline Stanhope, I’m afraid, because I simply don’t believe in her. Off hand, I don’t think there’s another character anywhere in Trollope of whom that’s true. We never see her off-stage, talking to her family. I wouldn’t want to have missed her appearance at Mrs Proudie’s reception, early on. But even that doesn’t really help.

 

So I’m about to embark on Candia McWilliam’s “What to Look For in Winter”, as mentioned a couple of days ago. Sure enough, there it was in my Kindle archive.

 

General gloom.

 

Not here, so much. It was a lovely, sunny day. Helen came, and we got around the garden twice, and my step count, as a result, stands at 3052 and I haven’t even gone to bed yet. I’m knitting round 44 of the 50 border rounds of Gudrun’s hap. The next round will be the final pattern round and then I can take out all those markers.

 

No, I am gloomy because my favourite columnist, Melanie Reid, who is quadriplegic after falling from her horse, has abandoned for a moment her usual cheerful cynicism and confessed in this morning’s Times how frightened she is. What if her carer gets Covid-19? Or her husband? Or what if she gets it herself? – paralysis requires specialist nursing to avoid bedsores. (My parallel anxieties are: what if I have a heart attack? or a stroke? or a bad fall? now that hospitals are choc-a-bloc.)

 

And then came the promised report on Andrew Doig’s health. He’s Andrew, as in Andrew and Andrea. You probably know already. He got a lot worse around Christmas. The best that doctors could offer – and I suspect German doctors are rather good – was treatment which would prolong life by a few months. So Andrea picked him up and drove him to a clinic in the Black Forest where they are free to use treatments that haven’t been approved and released on the world. (She has been doing a lot of research into possibilities, in the last few months.) She is staying there too, and helping to nurse him. It’s very expensive. She appealed to us for funds.

 

Hence, gloom.

 

Reading

 

Helen is reading Candia McWilliam’s autobiography “What to Look for in Winter”. (What a good title!) I thought I had read it, but none of the passages Helen described sounded familiar. I checked with Amazon, and sure enough I bought it for my Kindle a few years ago. So I think I’ll go there when I finish “Barchester Towers”. I’m increasingly inclined to agree with you, Shandy: Charlotte Stanhope is a bit of a Mary Crawford (from “Mansfield Park”) although I still hope she will prove to be less of a villainess.

 

It has been a feeble day on the walking front – 1975 steps so far.

 

Better for knitting, though. I’m most of the way around round 41 (of 50) on the borders of Gudrun’s hap. I’ve done the penultimate pattern round. It’ll take a long time to knit the edging on, but that’s a job I particularly enjoy.

 

Life

 

The doctor’s website now says that tomorrow’s vaccination session is for the mobile over-90’s. That lets me out. The implication is that he didn’t get as much vaccine as he expected.

 

Here’s a funny thing: last Thursday, which is “food day” in the Times, they printed a recipe for curing your own bacon, and one for making kimchi. The latter was by a chef I particularly admire, Skye Gyngell. There were also two articles, one by a man who had had great fun and great success curing his own bacon, and one by a woman whose kimchi had been a disaster – “too spicy, too sour, too fishy.” She threw it away.

 

Gyngell says that her kimchi recipe is “the most authentic and nicest I have come across”. “Nice” is a matter of taste, but I wouldn’t call it “authentic”. No gochugaru chili powder, no radish. (Mooli is usually specified; when I can’t get that, I get ordinary radishes and laboriously slice them.) And she includes half a cup of cooked white rice. The traditional approach is to make a porridge with rice flour. My own kimchi is based on Brad Leone’s recipe on YouTube, but I’ve looked at many others, including several posted by Koreans; and have consulted several books.

 

But what was funny, was to print the recipe alongside so hostile a review.

 

I’m getting low on kimchi. It will soon be time to make more.

 

Reading

 

I’ve moved forward in “Barchester Towers”. I don’t see androgyny in Charlotte Stanhope, Shandy. The author needs someone to hold the Stanhopes together, since the mother and the other daughter are useless, and he has created an admirable woman whose company one enjoys, so to speak, even though she lives mostly in the background. The Signora will need several paragraphs to herself at some point. I doubt if there is another woman remotely comparable anywhere in Trollope.

 

2377 steps. I should be able to reach 2500 before I go to bed. Yesterday I got to 3000 – and you may well be right, Janet, that I was pushing too hard. Thank you for that thoughtful comment. Mary Lou, no, I don’t think all this measured walking is improving my energy – but cider-less-ness might be.

 

I’ve reached round 35 of the borders of Gudrun’s hap. No. 33 was a pattern round, and it was indeed fun to have all those markers in place. I found an extra stitch at one point. I made sure that it hadn’t crept in under the marker from one side or the other. It hadn't, so I just got rid of it. In lace, as in Fair Isle, one is guided by the row below and that’s almost impossible with feather-and-fan. (or Old Shale, if you prefer.) There are five plain rounds in between each pattern round and it’s very difficult to “read” precisely what happened where, last time. I don’t think garter stitch makes it any easier, either. But markers work. There are now only two more pattern rows between me and the end, but there are a lot of stitches and progress is slow.

 

I got some indoor steps on the scoreboard today by putting away knitting books which have been piling up around the computer. Sometimes I bring new books in here to tell you about them, and never get around to finding a place for them. Sometimes I bring old faves in, to illustrate some point or other, and don’t put them away. So that was a good job done. And I found Hoxbro on Danish night shirts (see yesterday).

 

Shandy, I pressed on a bit with “Barchester Towers” and now I’ve got women all over the place: the Stanhope girls, Eleanor’s sister Mrs Grantly, the inimitable Mrs Proudie, Mary Bold in the background. I agree that Eleanor scarcely deserves to be described with the ivy simile. Mrs Ray, on the other hand, Rachel’s mother, also a widow, was a great one for taking advice from the most recent person to have offered it to her and indeed drives the plot forward by doing so.

 

Coronavirus news continues grim (and the doctor’s website continues to say that he “expects” to receive vaccine today). I feel increasingly gloomy about prospects for our cruise in May.

 

Helen came, and we got around the garden twice. It has left me feeling as if I had run a half-marathon. We probably ought to do it more often, when my caretakers can spare the time. 2781 steps today so far.

 

I’m half way around round 32 (of 50) on the borders of Gudrun’s hap. 33 is a pattern round, on which I will be able to reap the benefit of all those markers.

 

Fruity Knitting turned up, with an episode which was published om Christmas Eve. How did I miss it? Presumably for assuming it was one of those voice-only q&a sessions with a famous designer, for patrons. I thought Andrew looked a bit better, more colour. His voice is still funny, though (and he’s not doing any knitting). We are promised a bulletin on his health soon.

 

The main attraction was an interview with Vivien Hoxbro about her book about Danish night shirts. (I’ve got it, I feel sure, but – as so often – can’t find it.) It’s an interesting subject, and there are some lovely designs, all knits and purls.

 

I was sorry to see that Amy Herzog is giving up her on-line Custom Fit business. She says it no longer pays, and she’s doing lots of other things. I think I’ve got a book of hers, too.

 

Scams

 

I have no trouble with the ones which are just throwing bait onto the water to see if any of us fish will come up and take it. Alexander has taught me never to respond to a recorded message. Occasionally those are OK and in that case they will get back to me, one way or another. The ones from “the bank” which were trying to rob me of my life savings, were more upsetting. (It happened twice.) A man was talking to me, pretending to be concerned to protect my money.

 

Reading

 

I’ve gone back to “Barchester Towers” as you suggested, Shandy. It’s a comfort to be there, all right. The only thing I’ve got to say about women, so far, is that Eleanor Bold nee Harding has a lot in common with Mrs. Ray, Rachel’s mother – a woman who needs someone to cling to like ivy.

 

Life

 

I think I’ve decided not to worry about vaccination. Lot’s of people my age have been done already, lots of others haven’t, I’m pretty sure they’ll get to me as soon as they can. The NHS uses date-of-birth as an identifier so much that I can be sure my doctor has xxxx3x attached to my name, and the most slow-witted computer will find me when it looks for over-85’s.

 

Thank you for your kind and helpful messages about scams. I’ve had them before, of course. Did I write here about the one? – it must have been more than a year ago, now – when I came closer than I care to remember to falling for one of the classic ones, where they ring you up and say they’re “the bank” and that there is suspicious activity on tour account and you need to move your funds into a new account – in your name, of course.There were details in that one – Waitrose was mentioned, where I often used to shop – that might have been luck or might have meant they were watching. It was like finding rats in the larder.

 

Since then, my bank has put a lot of warnings up around on-line banking. I can’t pay the simplest bill without ticking boxes to say that the payee is trustworthy and that I reeely reeely reeely want to pay the bill.

 

But I think what really upset me last night, was when my messages to Alexander and Ketki were blocked. Emails occasionally bounce, of course, for one reason or another, but I don’t think I’ve ever had one “blocked” before. Now calmer, and thinking about it, I think the only explanation is that Googlemail has an algorithm good enough to spot the scam (which I quoted in full, for Alexander to give an opinion on). Since then, other messages have gone through, in both directions. So good for Googlemail. And that probably explains why the scams came as text messages on the phone, rather than emails.

 

Anyway, knitting. Here is my hap, now festooned with markers. They’re a nuisance, all right, but not nearly as much of a nuisance as unpicking a whole side.

 

I have reached round 29, of 50. (And I’ve taken 2441 steps.)

 

Archie came. It was a beautiful, cold, sunlit day. We walked around the garden. But more importantly, he stopped at the top of Broughton Street and bought me some fish. The shop has been shut for a fortnight – not surprising: the boats don’t go out much, between Christmas and the New Year, and for a few days following. But the shop was thoroughly shut, with no notice in the window, and we (Helen and I) feared the worst. Many a small shop has gone down, in these dreadful days. But not Mr. Bee. He came back. I had some tasty haddock for my lunch, a recipe of Hugh F-W’s from my new book. A glimmer of light, on a dark day.

 

I haven’t had a letter from the dr yet, about my vaccination. I don’t like the pictures I’ve seen of old folks queueing. For several reasons. The dr’s website says not to come without an appointment (so that’s good), and not to phone. I would be happier, I think, if it didn’t say that mobile over-85’s will be done this coming Saturday. What shall I do (if anything), if I haven’t heard by Thursday?

 

2447 steps so far today. Hobbling about will easily supply the deficit.

 

I’ve just found two messages on my phone (not emails, phone messages) one from the DVLA saying I am owed a refund on my vehicle tax, and the other from HMRC saying I am owed a tax rebate. In both cases I am invited to click on an official-sounding web address. How do they know my mobile number? I wouldn’t have discovered the messages for weeks, but that I am doing all this step-counting. I copied the messages and sent them to Alexander, my financial adviser, but (presumably because I gave my message the title “Scam?”), Googlemail blocked it. I tried again, calling it “Today” and copying to Ketki.

 

Both have been blocked. I’ll phone this evening. My tranquility, however,  has been disturbed and I write with difficulty.

 

I’ve reached something like round 23 on the borders of Gudrun’s hap. Another pattern round looms, and I will certainly take your advice and insert markers. It makes sense.

Later: I've spoken to both Ketki and Alexander. Both are well, unaware that their email inboxes are blocked. Alexander agrees with my suspicion of the phone messages. 

Their children are "back at school" on-line, and getting the full treatment. They have to wear uniform, and are not allowed to turn their Zoom camera off, and even have to turn up for non-exam classes like philosophy. 

 

Another satisfactory day. I’ve reached round 23 (of 50) on Gudrun’s hap’s borders. The lace, hardly worthy of the name, is Old Shale, and I am finding it so easy as to be difficult. I have had to unpick a whole edge twice now, when I got to the end and found that there weren’t enough stitches left to do what had to be done -- meaning that something was seriously wrong elsewhere in the row.

 

One great advantage of knitting a shawl centre-out is that the border increases can be done with yo, k1, yo at each corner on alternate rounds. I don’t know what the legal definition of faggoting is, but it’s an effect I’m very fond of, and this is close enough. Whereas if you’re knitting from the edging inwards, there’s no possibility for the corners except k2tog, k1, ssk.

 

C. came. The weather is a bit easier today, and we got around the garden in good order. Ice has turned to mud. There was a scary split second when she slipped and nearly fell. I was fine. 2543 steps so far today – another good one. The secret is, on garden-walk days, to get the count up to 2000 before lunch by walking around the house. Hobbling about will account for the rest.

 

Hugh F-W’s book is here. I don’t think I am going to learn much. He is against artificially-sweetened drinks like the sugar-free bitter lemon I rely on when deprived of cider. The sweeteners are bad for the microbiome, he thinks. For drinking, Hugh would restrict us to water, and unsweetened tea and sugar. I haven’t looked at the recipes yet.

 

Nor have I hit upon a book to read. I remain grateful for your suggestions. I fear “Speaker of Mandarin” is the only Wexford I haven’t read, and, as I expected, I don’t like it. As I feared, she is making a book out of her holiday, and, because she is brilliant, she is doing it well, but not well enough. Maybe I should persevere until Wexford gets home to blighty. I re-read the first few pages of Barchester Towers, Shandy. It certainly gives the feeling, from the first syllable, that the master is in top form.

 

I am beginning to fear for the cruise C. and I are booked on, departing May 1. When we postponed it last year, May 2021 seemed utterly distant and safe. But now they’re talking about cancelling the Tokyo Olympics, and postponing the elections due here on May 4 or some such date. Neither has happened yet, but the thought is there.

 

All well, I suppose. Plenty of walking today – Archie came, and we got around the garden. It was very cold, but there wasn’t much ice. 2393 steps at present – this will be the best day yet. Anxiety and gloom still tend to gather at the end of the afternoon, as darkness comes. 

 

And the knitting advances, too. I’ve reached the 18^th border round, of 50.

 

Kate Davies’ message today consisted of wonderful photographs of her walking in the cold. She lives more or less at the foot of Loch Lomond.

 

Two of my favourite sources of punditry (the Financial Times and the BBC podcast “Americast”) have said that Trump’s final video about Wednesday’s events was like a hostage video, and so it was. But who could have made him do it?

 

I had another pleasant Italian lesson. It sounds as if, just for the moment, Italy is doing better with COVID-19 than we are. The situation in London is terrifying. Scotland is somewhat better off. The Queen and Prince Philip have been vaccinated.

 

I haven’t committed to a new read yet. “Housekeeping” sounds too glum, despite your two recommendations. I wonder if I could find an Inspector Wexford I haven’t read. There’s always “The Speaker of Mandarin” which I have been avoiding. I’ve ordered Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s new book, but that doesn’t count. Recipes and life-advice.

 

Trump’s video about how wicked it was to storm the Capitol, and how everybody is going to be punished, seems to me the weirdest thing he’s done this week. Admittedly, there’s lots to choose from.

 

The coronavirus situation continues to worsen, especially in London.

 

C. came this morning, because the streets didn’t look too bad, but when we got out there and started to walk, it turned out there was a lot of black ice about (invisible, sinister), even on the path around the garden, so we gave up. Even that much, however, helped my step count. I’m currently at 1900 on the nose, and confident that I can fit in another 100 steps before bedtime.

 

We had Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in the paper yesterday, looking very trim. Was this in connection with a new book? He says he has four dry days a week, and that that’s easier than having only two which I can well believe. I think Rachel and Ed, and also Alexander and Ketki, have similar regimes, although not involving as many as four dry days. I may think along those lines, when we get to February.

 

I’ve knit fearlessly forward. The stripes help – one is constantly eager to reach the next colour.

 

Kate Davies is overflowing with essays these days, sometimes but not always about new items in the shop. Today it’s a very tempting “Green Shoots Tam” in Milarrochy tweed, very vernal, 

Reading

 

I’ve finished Barbara Pym. I can now choose between attempting “Gilead” again, and starting “The Hare with Amber Eyes”. But Friday is Italian-homework day, so I had probably better read Pirandello this evening.

 

Well. I don’t think there’s much I can significantly add to what everybody is saying everywhere. Shandy’s remark (comment yesterday) will take some beating: “Could they not just knit themselves hats?”

 

I am frightened that a madman should remain in charge of the world for as long as a fortnight. Depriving him of social media means that we won’t have any clues to his thinking, and that he is deprived of (relatively) harmless entertainment as he sits there typing. I trust that security at the Capitol will be tightened.

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

 

We had a cold night, and a frosty-looking morning. I stayed in. There was an article in this morning’s paper about how slippery streets (in Edinburgh, specifically) are adding to the miseries of a&e departments. I have been walking industriously up and down the house, and have reached 1720 steps. I think I’ll be able to bag my 2000 before bedtime.

 

And I have also knit industriously. I’m now doing round 10, I think, of the 50 rounds in the borders. Knitting the centre first means that the stitch count increases as I go, by eight stitches every other round. Basically, I prefer what I think of as the Amedro System – edging first, then borders inwards with the stitch-count decreasing. However, a nice thing about centre-first is that once one starts knitting round and round for the borders, the shawl forms a useful lap-bag for pattern and yarn.

 

Not much reading, what with one thing and another. I’m not really much enjoying Barbara Pym’s “No Fond Return of Love” – only just enough to keep going. At least it isn’t violent.

 

A nice thing about a dry January (or any other month, of course) is that – unlike Lent – the calendar counts along with you. If today is the 7^th, I must have done a week. I worry a bit about the possibility that I might be feeling peppier – in that case I’d have to go on, at least until our cruise in May, postponed from last year. And then the cruise would be cancelled and I would have missed out on all that cider. I heard on the news tonight that the Japanese are worried about the Olympics (also postponed from last year) – and they’re not due until July.

 

Unwonted cheerfulness…

 

         --- The sourdough turned out well.

         --- Helen came early, so that we could finish our walk before my Tesco delivery at 10. As we set forth, we spotted Tesco delivering my food to a neighbour on the other side of Scotland Street, to which my acquaintance doesn’t extend. A moment later or earlier and we would have missed him, and spent the day in misery looking for my food.

          --- I finished the six set-up rounds for the hap borders, and have embarked on the first colour. I think there’s a small mistake in the pattern, a misplaced “*” as in “repeat from *”. It doesn’t make a tremendous amount of difference – a round of YO eyelets has been worked with a K1 between them. I’ll check with Gudrun’s Craftsy class eventually, and alter the pattern if need be – just in case I live to knit the hap again.

          --- Big news: my GP’s website says that they will get supplies of the Oxford vaccine next week, and will have a vaccination clinic on Saturday the 16^th for the mobile over-85’s. That’s me! But I must wait for them to get in touch.

          --- It’s a bit too soon to embark on the rejoicing, but it sounds as if the news from Georgia is going to be good.

 

But as darkness falls, gloom re-descends.

          --- The number of British coronavirus cases, and deaths, and hospitalisations, since yesterday, has never been worse.

 

Reading

 

         I’ve spent much of today with that enormous COVID story in a recent New Yorker. I got three New Yorkers yesterday. I don’t think it’s tremendously good.

 

         Helen highly recommends “The Hare with the Amber Eyes”, as enthusiastically recommended by Jean and Marilyn. So I think I’ll go for that, even though the Kindle is expensive. She also spoke with great enthusiasm of Marilynne Robinson. I find I have “Gilead” on my Kindle already but fear I drifted away and never finished it.

 

         Shandy, it would be fun indeed to talk about Trollope’s women, and there are indeed some corkers in Barchester Towers. Even in the oft-repeated category of blameless maidens who find happiness in love, he doesn’t really repeat himself. So perhaps I’ll do as you suggest, after The Hare.

 

I’m afraid I’ve pretty well given up on 2021. Our statistics are worse than ever today. If your husband enjoys gloomy numbers, Mary Lou, he should have a look. The prospect of bringing them down with either the new lockdown or vaccination seems increasingly remote. There’s not a sunny upland in sight. What we hoped was the light at the end of the tunnel has proved to be New Jersey.

 

All is well here, however, for the time being. The weather was gloomy and unappetising, but above freezing, and Helen and I had a good walk. I did my 2000 steps. I also finished knitting the central square of Gudrun’s hap, and slid a needle through the loops all around. (Every row begins with a YO.) It wasn’t quite as easy as it sounds, but not bad, and I think the numbers are right. Now to start knitting. Like last time I am going to bite the bullet and purl alternate rounds, in order to keep everything in garter stitch. The alternative would be to leave one corner open, and knit back and forth, but purling will be neater. The borders are not very wide, as borders go.

 

I also made sourdough, all except for baking it which is done first thing the following morning. This loaf is for me. I have a sudden hankering for scrambled eggs on toast, or a smashed avocado.

 

I wonder how long we’ll have to wait for news from Georgia.

 

Reading

 

I’m drifting, again. Mary Lou, I am happy to have introduced you to Alice Thomas Ellis. Like you, I have never read a syllable of Beryl Bainbridge, and am convinced I wouldn’t like her. Why? Kirsten, I quite enjoyed “On Chapel Sands”. If you had a Kindle, you wouldn’t have to move books from one place to another. You could just read a few pages and drift away, as I’m afraid I not infrequently do. I’ve never read “The Hare with Amber Eyes” although I think I’ve heard of it.

 

 

 

Things are worse than ever – hospitals on the edge of being overwhelmed. The Prime Minister is about to speak to us. Scotland already has sterner measures. I think my way of life qualifies – Daniela would count as a carer (they’re allowed), as long as she is willing to come. We stay well away from each other. I pay for taxis. C. doesn’t come in the house. I regard myself as a member of Helen’s family bubble, but these days she doesn’t come in either. But it’s scary.

 

Helen came this morning. There was something of a thaw, and we got around the garden. The answer is, it took just over 1000 steps. General pottering about has added another 800 during the day, and presumably there’ll be a few more before bedtime. I’ve walked more than a kilometre today, the app says! So 2000 steps is my new target. Helen and I stood outside the house for a few minutes when we finished walking, to check the app. Perdita heard our voices, and called to me from behind the big front door. She does that sometimes, and it’s very sweet. Does she sit there waiting, like a small, anxious child?

 

And I have knit. The central square of Gudrun’s hap now has fewer than 40 stitches, and the Prime  Minister will account for a few more. Maybe I’ll pick up border stitches tomorrow!

 

You’ve probably had the message from Arne and Carlos, to say that Carlos is going into hospital for several weeks of “treatment, therapy and rehabilitation” for the symptoms which have lingered since his bad dose of Covid some months ago. That sounds as if perhaps hospitals in Norway are not quite as nearly-overwhelmed as they are here.

 

Reading

 

Dawn, I thought your suggestion (Saturday) of Alice Thomas Ellis was brilliant. I found her “The Birds of the Air” in my Kindle archive and have re-read it in one gulp. It’s appropriate to the season, being about a ghastly family Christmas. I then bought “Unexplained Laughter” but it is of lower emotional intensity and perhaps shouldn’t be read quite so soon after the other one.

Other

Yes, Shandy, that was Hamish's mother Christina, who broke her neck a few months ago falling off a horse, going for a Loony Dook on New Year's Day. 

 

All well here. The Health app on my phone has inspired me to walk up and down the passage to the extent that I’ve reached 1000 steps: not many, but it’s a start. I'll add a few more before I go to bed. Once I get out again, it will be interesting to see how many steps it takes to get around the garden.

 

The weather has been ugly, including some hail, but it must have been marginally warmer because that snow from four or five days ago is at last gone. This is a picture of Christina and Manaba and a friend about to have a Loony Dook (=Crazy Ducking) on New Year’s Day, which is the sort of thing some people do. Wee Hamish was cosy at home with his grandmother C. Mary Lou, I didn’t know you had fallen and been concussed, and am very sorry to hear it.

 

As well as walking up and down the passage, I have knit onwards. Currently just under 60 stitches remain in the centre of Gudrun’s hap. The Prime Minister himself was on the Andrew Marr show this morning. That got the day’s knitting off to a good start. I’ve looked out a long circular of the right gauge for picking up the border stitches, and I’ve arranged the contrast colours in what looks like a reasonable order for their employment. Undoubtedly, I'm moving onwards.

 

I’ve heard from the Sydenham Mileses. Cathy is recovering from her Covid, and has regained some appetite, but remains very weak and tired. James and their daughter Kirsty remain symptom-free, and have tested negative. I heard an epidemiologist say on the radio today that one of the many things we don’t know about the new vaccines is, how long does protection last. The same can presumably be said for the disease itself. James had it in March at about the same time Cathy did.

 

People in England in my position – over-80 and living “in the community” – seem to be getting vaccinated. Not so here in Scotland. My GP’s website makes it clear that they don’t know any more than I do. They beg us not to phone.

 

Reading

I finished Rendell’s “The Killing Doll”. It was un-put-down-able once started, although I must have read it before. It’s about madness and devil-worship, not very pleasant. I have retreated to “The Vicar of Bullhampton”: by no means vintage Trollope, but he can be trusted not to venture into devil-worship. Thank you, Cat and Gretchen and Sarah, for advice on Willa Cather. “My Antonia” it shall be. And thanks to others, for advice on cheerful reading. Hat, have you read “The Thursday Murder Club”?  I think I have been wary of it because Osman is so famous elsewhere -- that is, is it selling on merit or on his name? -- but I have been tempted and would be glad to set my opinion aside.

 

 

Helen came. She judged it still too dangerous for me to go out, and so walked me up and down the house. She has taught me how to use the “Health” app on my telephone which, for a few days at least, will be a great incentive to keep moving. C. was meant to come tomorrow, but agrees that the pavements are dangerous. We'll hope for a day next week -- but the forecast isn't good.

 

And I got some more knitting done. I think there must be about 90 stitches left, of 144. Each one represents a row to be knit – but the rows are getting shorter.

 

I did a bit more pile-tidying this morning (but no more going down on one knee to put a book away) – and found “Glorious Knitting” at the bottom of the pile. It was a great happiness to find it. I knew it had to be here somewhere, but that wasn’t much comfort. Kaffe came and gave a talk at a Birmingham department store once. It was a dark and rainy evening, and there weren’t many of us there, but he was as enthusiastic and inspiring as if we had been an auditorium-ful. I took my copy of “Glorious Knitting” along and asked him to sign it for me. So it’s not a volume I’d care to mislay.

 

My sister has embarked on a beautiful Kaffe cushion in needlepoint. The design is one of circles within squares, and she is finding, as we knitters do, that that sort of thing is harder than his geometric designs with straight lines.

 

Reading

 

Janet and Sara, could you recommend a starting-point for Willa Cather?

Shandy, I’ve read “Barchester Towers” too recently. I agree – in every other respect it’s exactly what I want. In fact, I have re-read all of Barchester and the Palliser novels within the last two years – except “The Warden”, for some reason. I could read that. I bought a late and obscure Trollope this morning, “The Vicar of Bullhampton”. It starts off all right. I gather it contains a fallen woman as a sympathetic character, which was a sensational move at the time. Meanwhile I am re-reading a Ruth Rendell I found in my Kindle, “The Killing Doll”. It’s not very cheerful. I should perhaps re-read a Wexford.

So I’m at a bit of a loss. I don’t think Pym’s “Crampton Hodnett” is going to fill the bill.

 

Well, that’s January 1 pretty well disposed of. I kept asking myself, do I feel better without cider? But answer came there none.

 

Still no walk. Helen had a jolly evening with friends yesterday – most unusual for her – and spent the morning in bed with tea and paracetamol. It’s still very cold here, but the sun shone brightly. It was a shame not to get out. I’ll make a real effort tomorrow.

 

What I did do was open the Kindle on my lap, increase the type-size, and knit and read. I’ve finished “Rachel Ray” – all ends well – and advanced the central square of the hap considerably. I’ve got fewer than 100 stitches now (144 at the max) and it’s beginning to go a bit faster.

 

And I’ve actually got something to say. The new issue of “Knitting” has turned up (the British monthly magazine, not terribly good) with an issue devoted to Japanese knitting. At first I was disappointed because they didn’t have an article walking one through the thickets of a Japanese knitting pattern. I’ve still got “Knitter’s” for Spring ’97 (in the time of Nancy Thomas’ editorship – those were the days) – and, more surprisingly, I can still find it – in which Gayle Roehm does exactly that.

 

But what “Knitting” does have is a pattern by Yoko Hatta which they offer as a Japanese-style pattern, only in English; and also as an English-language pattern. It goes on for pages. But by the time you had toiled through it, you’d have grasped the elements of the Japanese system.

 

I had a Japanese phase, some years ago. I went to a lesson somewhere – I can visualise the scene, but can’t remember what or where the LYS was. And I’ve got a collection of Japanese pattern books and symbol dictionaries. I even knit an ear-flap hat from a Japanese pattern, back in those days. If I were to take it up again, I think the thing to do would be to get the general idea from the photograph and then use that and the charted stitch pattern or patterns to construct an over-all pattern for oneself. Swatching would be essential. Japanese patterns tend to the petite, anyway, and usually don’t offer much of a range of sizes. Many of the symbols in a charted stitch pattern are the same as the ones we use; that wouldn’t be too difficult to decipher.

 

Reading

 

I don’t know quite where to turn. I’ve still got that unread Barbara Pym. And I thought maybe Willa Cather. I learned today that the Duchess of Cornwall (=Camilla) is about the start a book club on Instagram. I’ve signed up, rather dubiously.