Yet another great-granddaughter:

 (I hope I’ve got the right baby.)

 

And yet another Caesarian – in this case because Lucy seemed to have developed an infection in the days just before giving birth. Both she and the baby (Flora Rachel) are on antibiotics and will stay in hospital for a few days. They have gone private, and will not be ejected as unceremoniously as Becca and Ella were after their Caesarian birth a few days ago.

 

I set out to walk alone today, but met a friend who was just setting forth with her dog, so I had pleasant company. 2469 steps.

 

I’ve been knitting happily. Here’s my Pairfect sock:

 

I don’t think there will be anything more in the way of pattern. The hope is that the foot will be long enough to reach the final green section for the toe, but even Arne and Carlos can’t guarantee that. Jenny, the MustStache system you mention – two balls that begin at the same point in the sequence – would accomplish the same thing, in some ways more efficiently. Choice would be restored as to the amount of ribbing. Here’s the link. They live in Texas.

 

I’ve resisted the temptation to invest in a Coofle kit. Socks it will be, for cruise knitting. I have 100 grams of one of Kaffe’s colourways in my sock bag – will even that be enough, at the rate I’m going at the moment? Perhaps I’d better throw in something else.

 

My Amazon package is now promised between 6 and 9 this evening.

 

Helen sounds cheerful, and said she had a better night’s sleep last night. She claims to be enjoying the enforced leisure. Alas, she’s not a knitter. Archie is cooking for her, at least some of the time. I cooked lunch for him today – I haven’t done that for a while. Nor was it as easy as it used to be, although it was a very simple meal. We got around the garden. 2361 steps.

 

I knit happily on with my Pairfect socks. The first one is now eight imches long and I expect the heel colour to come up every time I pull a length of yarn out of the centre -- very exciting. Arne and Carlos have produced a new self-patterning (not Pairfect) collection, which looks very attractive on their Youtube channel. The self-patterning was worked out with technical assistance and great precision for a previous collection or collections. All they have done now is to re-colour it. The new collection is called Lofoten, I think (a Norwegian place name); and doesn’t seem to be available in GB yet.

 

Linnell (comment yesterday), you have enhanced the temptation of the Kate Davies Coofle sweater kit. I read Wendy Knits’ blog entry on the subject, as you suggested – it answered a question the KD website doesn’t, namely whether it is knit top-down or bottom-up. The answer is the latter, which makes it more suitable for cruise knitting as there would be largely nothing to do except knit. I would be unlikely to reach the yoke in the available time. Tomorrow is really the last feasible day for a decision.

 

All day I have been promised an Amazon delivery “by 9 p.m.”. Usually when a day starts like that, an actual time slot is assigned later on. Today no, and they have finally confessed that it won’t be coming. Maybe tomorrow. That’s just as well – it means I can go to bed before nine, as is my wont.

 

Helen didn’t have surgery after all. She was seen at the Royal Infirmary on the day of the disaster, but referred out to Livingstone for surgery this morning. When she got there, a different set of doctors decided against. It would be hard to locate the severed nerve or nerves; a general anaesthetic is not completely risk-free; there is also the danger of introducing infection into the wound. They were worried about the ugly scar, but that doesn’t bother her. So she is home, sounding cheerful, with instructions to remain immobile for two or three days, and not to drive for a fortnight.

 

The Royal Infirmary feared she would lose sensation in part of her foot, which would affect balance. Now the only problem seems to be a loss of feeling in the shin, and one can live with that.

 

I can profitably work that all up into Italian for Saturday’s conversation.

 

I walked alone this morning – 2485 steps; a bit better. Archie is coming tomorrow after all (he had planned to stay home looking after his mother) so I’ll have company.

 

I went on consulting my own frayed nerves rather than culture or Italian – finished watching the wonderful BBC “Pride and Prejudice” down to the final kiss. I then re-read the end of the book, from Lydia’s marriage onwards: it’s really a very faithful adaptation. Watching it, I thought maybe the magnificent Alison Steadman was playing Mrs Bennett a bit OTT. On re-reading, I don’t think so. The awfulness is fully there in the text.

 

And I went on knitting my Pairfect sock. The idea, a simple but ingenious one, is that you start ribbing; and when the original colour gives out you switch to st st for a passage of Arne-and-Carlos self-patterning; and when the original colour reappears, you knit a heel; and then knit the desired length of foot. Then you continue to pull yarn out of the centre of the ball. At first, it will be the yarn you didn’t use for the foot; then a length of bright yellow yarn. That will give way in time to the original colour, and at that point you start knitting the second sock.

 

I’m well-advanced with the first self-patterning section. This threatens to be slightly addictive, and I’m in danger of having knit too much before the cruise even starts. There’s still time to buy a Kate Davies yoke sweater kit. I’ve chosen the one I want – Coofle. I haven’t clicked far enough ahead to find out how much it costs: that might cool my enthusiasm.

 

 

 

I spoke to Helen this morning. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that all is well, but all is at least in hand.

 

She tripped and fell heavily, as we knew. When she had cautiously established that nothing was broken, she went upstairs to clean herself up – and when she saw the wound, decided that she needed medical attention. She was alone in the house. She went next door to her neighbours, but they weren’t there. She decided that either a taxi or an ambulance would take too long to arrive, so she drove to the Royal Infirmary herself. The desk where she presented herself assumed that since she had driven herself there, and walked in, she belonged in Minor Injuries. And in Minor Injuries there was a substantial queue (of people with nothing much wrong with them, she says).

 

Helen is a fairly forceful character. I wonder if she was more shocked than she realised. Did she try telling someone that she could see the bone?

 

When a medically qualified person finally saw her, things moved forward promptly. An x-ray confirmed her own diagnosis: nothing is broken. That's a mercy. But a nerve or nerves are severed. She will have surgery tomorrow (full-scale, general anaesthetic) for that. Yesterday they put in temporary stitches and gave her some crutches and sent her home.

 

One good thing, though. She was about to embark on a serious couple of hours of housekeeping when the accident happened: she had changed out of her nice new trousers. The old pair she was wearing when she fell have been written off, as feared.

 

Knitting.

 

I finished those socks. Here they are. I am horrified to see through the eyes of the camera, how different they are. Maybe I’ll keep them for myself.

There is nothing in my sock stash that I particularly like, but there is a ball of Regia Pairfect (in rather alarming colours). I did a Pairfect pair once, I think; it was rather fun. I went to Arne and Carlos on Youtube, to remind me how to do it, and cast on. We’ll see.

 

I got around the garden by myself this morning – C. usually comes on Sunday, but she has a cold. 2080 steps – it has been one of those days when nothing seems to please the telefonino.

 

Instead of reading, I have been re-watching the old BBC “Pride and Prejudice” to serve my nerves. It’s still good.

 

Archie just phoned to say that Helen has tripped over something, running for the telephone, and cut her leg badly. She drove herself to hospital, where he thinks she’ll probably stay tonight. Oh, dear, indeed. She had on a particularly nice pair of brand new trousers when I saw her this morning, too. 2203 steps.

 

No knitting, but I am sufficiently agitated by this news that I’ll probably be able to get back into the sitting room this evening and finish off that toe. Then what? The problem of cruise-knitting remains unsolved. I have a sort of hankering for a Kate Davies yoke sweater kit, which would be ridiculous given the amount of stash to hand. Yoke sweaters are awfully peaceful. Anna, I do agree about missing KD’s one-time homely blogs.

 

C. and I have had our boarding instructions and luggage labels from the Majestic Line. Masks will have to be worn on board, which is bad news. I find them claustrophobic and – despite your help with the problem – my spectacles steam up. I’ll have to solve that one by not wearing them all the time, and will have to try very hard not to lose them.

 

This is alarming news about the red warning on my blog. Thank you for telling me, Jenny, although I can’t imagine what I could do about it. Blogger has never mentioned a problem to me. I wonder if I provided an unsafe link at some point?

 

I’ve been sitting out on the step for the last couple of hours, watching the filming of a few seconds of  “Crime”. (See Wednesday’s blog.) Goodness, I’m glad I’m not a movie star. Someone once said – possibly even Evelyn Waugh – that war consists of long intervals of exquisite tedium interspersed with moments of terror. Filming is rather like that. They’re still at it out there.

 

But there was some warmth in the sun, and all the neighbours were assembled, and that was kind of fun. Here some of us are:

 

I have an appointment to have my hair done next week, you may be glad to hear.

 

2296 steps. I walked alone.

 

I’ve signed up for Kate Davies’ Bluestocking club – women’s history plus sock patterns. Maybe it’ll get me knitting again. I have done a bit today. I watched the whole first episode of “Pursuit of Love” and have brought the current sock to the toe shaping. I should finish tomorrow. I’m afraid I didn’t like “Pursuit of Love” at all. You’ll have to tell me, later on, whether they get Fabrice de Sauveterre anywhere near right.

 

Thank you for your cat comments. Sharon, I particularly like your notion that cats can hide in another dimension. Perdita has been doing it all her life.

Now I must work on Italian for tomorrow. I've read my canto of the Inferno but need to go through it again with a translation. For literature I decided to stick with Jhumpa Lahiri -- explaining her to my tutor will be a good exercise in itself. 

 

An unexciting day, after the thrills of yesterday. Archie and I got once around the garden; step count 2480.

 

Here’s a picture of Joe and Becca and Ella:

 

No knitting.

 

And very little in the way of deploying yesterday’s garden centre purchases. Maybe I’ll start the micro greens off this evening. Barbara-Kay, (comment yesterday) my father grew snow peas in his wartime vegetable garden in Detroit. I had never heard of them, and remember them as sublimely delicious. When I started growing vegetables in Kirkmichael, it was the first thing I wanted to achieve. I had successful crops, but nothing ever tasted as wonderful as those wartime snow peas. My father even sent me some American seeds, to no avail.

 

In those days, I think, the stores didn’t sell them: or maybe that was because my mother didn’t buy them. Nowadays they’re abundantly available, but boring.

 

I’ve been re-reading Mitford, “Love in a Cold Climate” now that I’ve finished “Pursuit of Love”. And it is indeed cold.

 

I had a bad evening yesterday (after writing to you) when I couldn’t find Perdita. She couldn’t have escaped (she likes going for walks) – there’s only one way out, and Helen and the van man, loading her mosaic, couldn’t have failed to notice a stout middle-aged cat going down the steps and setting forth along Drummond Place. Even knowing that, I was anxious and unhappy for a couple of hours. But she’s here, with no explanation of her absence.

 

We had a grand time at the garden centre – but, despite much longer on my feet than usual, the step total for today is only 1767. I bought some lettuce and some kale and some mangetout peas, and also some microleaves (how often have I tried them? how often failed?).  Helen and I both think that she put all three plant trays on the doorstep when we got home, but we soon found that the lettuce was missing. Left behind in the car? or pinched from the doorstep? We don’t know yet. She bought a lot of much more garden-ly things like pebbles and grit.

 

Then the afternoon was devoted to dispatching her mosaic northwards.

 

C. and I were meant to be going to Peebles on Friday in pursuit of shoes. I’m having some foot trouble. But she has phoned to say that she has a cold – wee Hamish’s fault, I suspect; I live so far out of the world these days that such a thing has almost been forgotten. We’ve postponed Peebles and shoes until Tuesday. And perhaps just as well: Drummond Place is to be taken over on Friday by filming for something called “Crime” with Dougray Scott, a name I think I vaguely know. Would she have been able to drive to the door? Edinburgh is all too willing to close roads and inconvenience rate-payers, but under the new arrangements I can enjoy the excitement without anxiety. Goog’ling either “Dougray Scott” or “Crime” produces substantial results. This is clearly big stuff.

 

Reading

 

Thank you for your comment, Shandy. I got as far into the television "Pursuit of Love" as the arrival of Lord Merlin’s house party, and utterly agree with your judgment. I hope I will press on tonight (I hope that, every evening, and never achieve it) to the Kroesig lunch party. I’d like to see how they deal with Davey Warbeck, a pivotal character despite his hypochondria. Or because of it. His first appearance wasn’t promising.

 

Two days to go until the weekend: it’s time to get back to serious Italian literature.

 

Life

 

We’re all hoping that the U.S.is going to step up to the plate in Israel.

 

Ella Ogden is now safely with us, after a long labour and an emergency Caesarean. Joe and Becca’s daughter. I’ll send pics soon.

My friend Sylvia is overjoyed to have her cat back. She says he looks fine but seems somewhat subdued. She has ordered a cat-tracker for him.

 

Again, a better day here than forecast. 1865 steps – one of the days when the step-counter isn’t really trying. Archie and I got around the garden once.

 

Helen is going to take me to a GARDEN CENTRE tomorrow. I think we think we might as well do it properly, and go to Hopetoun House. It will be exciting. I don’t know what I want, except for some small flowerpots.

 

I’m a bit further forward with sock-knitting. Thank you for the reminder about negative ease, Tamar. I have recently bought myself some bamboo-and-cotton socks for my cruise: very smart-looking and comfortable. Does anyone really want hand-knit woolly socks any more?

 

I knit this morning while watching “Pursuit of Love”. I wasn’t tremendously impressed. I spent much of the rest of the day reading it. It’s not an easy book to translate to the screen. My main objection to the early scenes – which is all, in fact, I saw – was that they didn’t get the 14-year-old balance of innocence and curiosity and sophistication right: the girls were 21^st century girls. But the book requires them to age a full 15 years or more, so it would be hard to get actresses who could do that, and also be 14. But we started off on the wrong foot: the scene was Christmas-time, and the light and the green countryside were wrong. Also we saw one of our heroines coming home from a day of hunting, riding astride. Mitford makes a point of how uncomfortable it was to trot home while riding side saddle. Walking was all right – but the horse would get too cold. Cantering was fine –but the horse would get too hot. It’s a small point; why bother; no one will notice. But it irritated me.

 

I am not always so carping. I loved the BBC “Pride and Prejudice” and have re-watched it a couple of times.

 

Now I really must re-engage with Italian.

 My friend Sylvia – my Oberlin friend Sylvia, whom I’ve known for more than 70 years – writes a private blog to 30 or 40 friends and family, It’s a bright spot of my morning, although lately not so bright because her cat Frankie was missing. Day gave way to day, confidence to forlorn hope. But this afternoon – still morning in Binghampton, NY – Sylvia wrote to say that he was home. A neighbour had found him in her cellar. He was carrying identification. Happy news for everybody, and I suspect Frankie is a very happy cat.

 

Another bit-warmer day here, with just enough of a shower that I don’t have to worry about water for the pots on the step. 2238 steps. Helen walked me around the garden. She hopes to take me to a garden centre on Wednesday What a treat that will be!

 

I found the “sock size” page in my electronic Filofax, and it isn’t as definitive as I remembered. I thought there was a simple formula – so long a foot for gents, so long for ladies. But no. I’ve advanced slightly with my current sock. I haven’t watched “Pursuit of Love” yet. (Well-reviewed in this morning’s paper, but with elements that make me sceptical.) Maybe today will be the day when I get back into the sitting room and the television set after blog-writing and a bit of supper. That’s where the difficulty lies, essentially – no evening knitting.

 

Reading

 

Peggy (comment yesterday): Yes! I’m a great Jhumpa Lahiri fan. I “discovered” her in the New Yorker (as I did William Trevor and Alice Munro) and went on to read much of what she has published. She is, so to speak, in the generation of my daughter-in-law Ketki: the daughter of immigrants with imperfect English, who grew up speaking American. And then, in Jhumpa’s case, fell in love with Italian, moved her family to Italy for two or three years, and has lately been writing in that language.

 

I am reading the book you mention, I didn’t want to say anything about it for fear of sounding too highbrow. It has now been translated into English. There was a long review in the weekend Financial Times. It feels slightly thin – I can’t think of a better word. I’m sure all the Italian is perfectly correct, and vastly better than I could do. I wonder if my tutor knows about it.

 

That still leaves me to decide between an Italian thriller and something more weighty. You’d be surprised at how fast the weekend comes around, if you’re not careful.

 

C. and I got twice around the garden this morning. 3270 steps already! The weather (as often in Edinburgh) was dryer and brighter than forecast. And – oh, bliss! – warmer than it’s been recently. The cherry trees are shedding their petals. The garden changes every day, this time of year. I must harvest some more wild garlic while it’s still here.

 

I had a good time sock-knitting to the Andrew Marr show this morning. I feel sure there’s a sock-size page in my ancient Lotus Organizer, but I can’t find it, although there’s lots of interesting information about knitting in there. I’ll have to wing it. This is a second sock I’m knitting. I can count the rows from heel gusset to toe shaping on the first sock. Should be do-able.

 

It was wee Hamish’s birthday yesterday. I sent him an interesting bottle of a chilli sauce from Zimbabwe called Dr. Trouble. I read about it in the Times last week, and promptly ordered. And it promptly came. It’s delicious. It’s made by assembling the ingredients (no artificials) and putting the mixture into big glass containers and leaving them out in the African sun for two months, turning frequently. The bottle was really for Hamish’s father Manaba, who is a serious amateur cook.

 

Reading

 

I’ve been hesitating over the Italian thrillers in my Kindle library – Lucarelli, Carofiglio, Camillieri (who wrote about Inspector Montalbano). I ought probably to choose something more serious. I’m looking forward to tonight’s television adaptation of Mitford’s “Pursuit of Love”. I don’t watch much television these days. I’m uneasy about the publicity pictures I’ve seen. But I’ve got to try.

 

Rachel rang up today. Down there in London, she said, it was raining but warm. Here it’s resolutely grey, no rain – which would be welcome – and bitter cold. Evelyn Waugh’s “biting cold mid-June morning” comes to mind, as often. Both of Rachel’s prospective grandchildren are now full term – Joe’s wife Becca is three or four days past her date; Thomas’ wife Lucy still has a week to go.

 

I’m very weak again. Why? C. and I got once around the garden. 2378 steps, which could be worse. We talked of how to get to Oban for our cruise. It’s easy but tedious by train, but I gather that isn’t a serious option.

 

It looks as if the SNP has failed to get an overall majority. That’s good news – but the wretched Greens (9 seats) are also in favour of independence, so storm clouds continue to gather. My own constituency was previously Conservative – Ruth Davidson herself – but has gone SNP. One of their heavyweights was standing here, and the opposition (for which I voted) was pretty lightweight, so it’s not surprising.

 

There’s an article in the new New Yorker about Ms Sturgeon and independence and things. No conclusions, but clear and informative.

 

It’s interesting, in a sad sort of way, how different the results are in the three nations – Conservative in England, Labour in Wales, SNP here. I feel we are gently drifting apart.

 

There’s also an article about knitting in the “How To Spend It” section of today’s Financial Times. That one isn’t very informative. It runs up against – but doesn’t really confront – the old problem, that hand knitting takes so long that it isn’t economic unless you can exploit the poor in some way, who are so glad to have the income and to be praised for their skills that they are willing to work for absurd hourly rates. We are fortunate to have a craft with which love can be so simply expressed.

 

All of which lets me postpone saying that I haven’t done any knitting again today. Those socks are all ready for the Andrew Marr show tomorrow morning. Which should be interesting.

 

Reading

 

I’ve finished Clare Chambers’ “A Dry Spell”, and enjoyed it. Rachel says I mustn’t read a newly-discovered author all at once, and she’s probably right. I’ve decided to abandon “I Vicere” – it’s too big. What I need is a faster-moving Italian novel.

 The weather hasn’t been quite as bad as forecast, less rain, anyway, but still very cold. I walked around the garden by myself. 1799 steps. Terrible. My iPad is malfunctioning and I can’t get it to re-boot.

 

Election results are trickling in. We still don’t know if Ms Sturgeon has done as well as she hoped. But she’s done pretty well.

 

One thing puzzles me a bit – British readers may be able to help. As I remember General Elections from the 50’s-60’s-70’s, Labour needed the west-of-Scotland Labour block to get enough seats to form a government in Westminster. Left to itself, England voted Conservative. It was a bit like the American Democrats and the “solid south”, in the old days. Then the SNP swallowed up the Labour vote in Scotland. I suppose I could fairly easily look up the numbers. What puzzles me is that no one seems to be mentioning this factor, as they clutch their brows and ask what is to become of the Labour party (who decisively lost an important by-election last night).

 

I’ve done another canto of the Inferno, and informed myself somewhat about Moravia. I can hardly be expected to read “Gli Indifferenti” before tomorrow morning.

 

Reading

 

I’ve continued happily with “A Dry Spell” (Clare Chambers). I don’t think it’s as good as “Small Pleasures” but it’s good enough to keep me very happy.  I have definitely decided to abandon “I Vicere” so I need another readable Italian novel.

 

Well, I’ve voted. It was a moving experience.

 

I got out of bed this morning feeling very weak. Nervous excitement? However am I going to get aboard that boat? That will be infinately more stressful. Archie came, and then our dear friend G. picked us up. I had hoped that we would have been able to walk home after voting, but there was no chance of that, strength-wise. G. heroically weathered the confusion and the workmen who now prevail up there (building the new St James’ Centre and generally messing up the road layout), and waited for us. Mercifully the long queues often photographed at American elections are not a feature here.

 

Anonymous (comment yesterday), you are right that photography was not allowed within the polling station. Here I am arriving at it, looking slightly sturdier than I have felt all day:

 

1774 steps. Being driven to and from a polling station doesn’t add up to much. I did manage 3000 yesterday.

 

I did a bit of knitting. It’s been a long time: I had forgotten the sheer pleasure of sock knitting. It took a while to get started – on top of yesterday’s untangling, there were a needle-ful of stitches to be picked up. But all is well. Next I must locate my sock yarn stash and decide on what comes next. Indeed, give some thought as to whom the present pair are destined for. Perhaps a picture tomorrow – you’ll see that it’s not at all an easy question.

 

Reading

 

I’ve finished “Lucky Jim”. Shandy, The Oldie sent me an email this week about their 400^th issue. It included a photograph of Monica Jones, taken by Larkin himself, perhaps attached to a review of the book.  She certainly didn’t look anything like Jim’s Margaret Peel.

 

 I am still floundering about (and haven’t touched Moravia). I decided to go on with Clare Chambers, since “Small Pleasures” was such a success. I’ve embarked on “A Dry Spell”. It starts very well. None of the characters is having a particularly nice time, but I’m not finding it depressing. Funny how it works.

 

Not too bad a day. I’m feeling brighter. We’ve had a bit of hail, and it’s bitter cold – par for the course, this May. Alexander came, bringing me an interesting bottle of Thai pickled fish sauce. We walked around the garden. 2885 steps – I’ll pace up and down the house, as needed, to reach 3000 before bedtime. Helen says she has finished her mosaic (brilliant news!) and that I am not allowed to show it to you until it has been installed, somewhere in Aberdeenshire. She hopes she’ll be invited.

 

However, all this is piffle before the wind, as I think Daisy Ashford once said, compared to my big day tomorrow: I’m going to vote. The current plan is that Archie will come, as scheduled for Thursday; a dear friend will drive us up the hill; and we’ll walk back – downhill is easier. If it’s allowed, I’ll have Archie take a picture of me dropping the ballot into the box. I’m still not absolutely sure how to vote – the object is to obstruct Scottish independence. How best to achieve that? I live in Ruth Davidson’s constituency. If she were standing again, there would be no problem (and no doubt of her victory). But she has deserted us for the House of Lords. Both the Conservative and the Labour party leaders in Scotland have something to be said for them; both of their candidates in this constituency seem on the feeble side. It’s pleasant to have the problem to think about. There was no such interesting issue when I voted recently for Biden rather than Trump. In New Jersey, where it didn't matter.

 

As for knitting, I’m afraid the cats had been at it again. I will be more careful, henceforth. Paradox has started carrying my tee-shirts around the house at night as if she were a puppy. I spent my knitting time disentangling. Wee Hamish’s Calcutta Cup vest has four colours attached; the brioche swatch I had been working on has two. They were entwined. I sorted that out – I think, secretly, I rather enjoy disentangling, especially when multiple colours are involved rather than a single-colour skein-winding gone wrong. Then, as promised here yesterday, I tackled those ¾-knit socks, which involved more disentangling, and I got that done too, I think the sensible thing would be to go ahead and finish those socks right now.

 

Reading

 

Thinking along your lines, Robin (comment yesterday, for which I am grateful), I am re-reading “Lucky Jim”. Even that is sort of depressing, in its way. A new biography of Monica Jones is much discussed at the moment – she was Philip Larkin’s lover, and said to be the inspiration for the wonderfully awful Margaret in “Lucky Jim”. My husband knew her, somewhat, when we were at Leicester in the late 60’s. I never met her. It is Margaret who makes the book live. The rest of the characters, including Jim himself, are pretty cardboard.

 

But here it is Wednesday. The week moves on. I had better have a look at Moravia.

 

All well, although I have been seized by a sudden gloom. My food package from Mindful Chef failed to turn up today =- most unusual – but that is not enough to account for sudden gloom. Nor is the weather – the sun has made a dim appearance, after a day of dampness and chill. I've known worse.

 

I’ve found a carer for the cats, when I go cruising -- the last big hurdle. I limped around the garden with Archie this morning but have registered only 2008 steps.

 

As for knitting, I went on working on brioche and have made, I think, some progress. Arne and Carlos’ simple lesson on the subject was some help – perhaps my difficulty with Marchant is that she explains so much, so carefully, with so many illustrations, that it is hard to get an overview. I think I’m just about ready to embark on a scarf for real.

 

Maureen, you’re absolutely right about socks. (And I like the concept of “bar knitting”.) I used to knit them all the time, when away from base. In the days when my husband and I went to London for the art and the family three or four times a year, I usually finished half a dozen pairs in a year. The difficulty now is a silly one, easily resolved – I have a pair ¾’s finished (see sidebar), in which state they have remained for many a long month, I don’t think what’s left to do would fill a ten-day cruise. So I could either finish them now, and start a new pair. Or I could just take them along as-is, and pack yarn for a new pair. Easy. I’ll sort that out tomorrow.

 

General

 

I’m sorry about the Gateses. There are few famous, rich people in whom I feel any interest at all, but they are an exception. Some of you may know the weekly “Lunch with the FT” feature in the Financial Times. The rules are that the FT pays, and the subject chooses the venue and of course the menu. Bill Gates chose a modest café across the street from the office, and the interview, in truth, wasn’t very interesting. At the end, the FT man stood up, and Gates said, “Are you sure you want to pay? I’ve got money.”

 

I’m missing “Small Pleasures”. I’ve covered about 40% of “I Vicere” and am sorely tempted to give up.

 

Rain! Much needed. Cold, to the point of beginning to wonder whether I should put the heat back on. Dark. And the forecast for the rest of the week is not much better. That means that when we do set sail on our cruise (if we do – Covid and Ms Sturgeon permitting), however grim the weather, we won’t be able to say, if only we could have sailed on May 1 as planned. So that’s a plus.

 

2494 steps so far today. I walked around the garden alone. C. came yesterday, and we did two circuits – the secret is just to go on talking – and I got a bit beyond 3500 steps by bedtime.

 

For knitting, today, I struggled with brioche. I see that I knit Carol Sunday’s “Soutache” as recently as 2019 – and it certainly looks like a two-colour brioche. (What happened to it?) But the skill hasn’t stayed in my fingers. I think maybe Sunday simplified things somewhat – but how? Today I was relying on Marchant only. I started with the Italian two-colour cast-on – I think Helen posted my struggle to Instagram – and got nowhere. I finally found a note that said that if you were really too old and stupid to master this, you could cast on with a long-tail as usual and take it from there (joining in the second colour for the first set-up row). So I did that.

 

And then did a swatch of basic brioche.

 

And then started in on “Mr Flood’s Chart” where Marchant walks us through a charted pattern. (This is from her “Knitting Fresh Brioche” book.) I’m not finding the symbols entirely easy. The actual execution is not difficult. Arne and Carlos have just posted a video about two-colour brioche knitting, but they are doing it in the round which is in some respects easier – you purl with one colour and knit with the other. And the Norwegian way of holding the yarn undoubtedly helps, but I’m too old to master that.

 

I’m not far enough along to determine whether or not this will do for cruise knitting, when I want to be able to toss off sophisticated witticisms as I knit.

 

Reading

 

I’ve finished Clare Chambers’ “Small Pleasures” (highly recommended) and have reverted to “I Vicere”. I’m also meant to be exploring Moravia this week,

 

Jane (comment Thursday) Thank you for the reference to Numbers 3:44-51. I am embarrassed to reveal that I can’t reach my bible – Archie will be here tomorrow; he can get it down for me. There are two other editions (King James and Douai) in the Mosaic Room, but I don’t dare open the door as I am not nimble enough to catch a frisky cat.

 

A disappointing day – all my own fault. There was a piece in the Times this morning about re-reading Shirley Jackson’s “We Have Always lived in the Castle”, her last book. I have read it, it’s there on my Kindle, but not recently, so I re-read it myself. The Times writer was too kind – it’s good, all right, but it’s about madness: depressing and unsettling. I feel I’ve thrown the day away.

 

Rachel rang up, and amidst other fragments of conversation, recommended in glowing terms Clare Chambers’ “Small Pleasures”. Sort of Barbara-Pym-like, Rachel said.

 

We have now embarked upon the month in which both of her new grandchildren are expected. So far she has four granddaughters. We already know that one of the new ones will be a girl. The other remains a mystery.

 

C. came. Today is the day when our most-recently-cancelled cruise was scheduled to depart. The weather is grey and chilly (one might even say, cold) and serious rain is forecast for Monday. Our newly-scheduled cruise sets sail four weeks from today – maybe we’ll be lucky, and get the weather too. 2457 steps today – no hope for 3000.

 

No knitting, again. I sat there feeling cross at myself, and decided to try to cast on some two-colour brioche to see if it would be possible for cruise knitting. But got no further than winding the two skeins of yarn. On the other hand, that's done, and they were quite big skeins.

 

Comment: Jenny (yesterday). Good question! Sometimes I ask it of myself. But the essential answer is that I love Italian, and love Italy, and my very fond of my tutor, and articles about how to look after oneself in old age often recommend language-learning to stave off dementia. And maybe I will wake up one day miraculously rejuvenated, and Archie and I can go to Syracuse.

 

Another beautiful day – another chilly one. I walked alone, sorry to say goodbye to April. Glorious May is too much like spending capital. The wild garlic is now in flower – I must harvest some more. It doesn’t last long, once that happens. 2889 steps – I ought to be able to edge it up to 3000. I did it yesterday.

 

Life is suddenly very quiet. Helen and her colleague seem to be doing well, and have both gone off for the weekend. My Romanian cleaner is similarly absent, celebrating Easter according to the Julian calendar. I had my Italian lesson this morning, because May 1 is a big event in Rome. Delicious emptiness looms.

 

I hope I will be able to show you a picture of Helen’s work soon. I don’t dare go in there, because Paradox is obsessed with that room and cats and tesserae aren’t a good mixture. She (Helen, not the cat) is making a floor for a well-known distillery: I don’t know whether they will welcome advance publicity. I’ll confer with her nearer finishing time.

 

But no knitting. I must certainly do better tomorrow – no excuse. Italian tends to flatten me, but that’s over for this weekend.

 

And as for reading, I forge forward with “I Vicere”.

 

Not much to report, in fact.

Another dry, chilly day. Archie took some water to the plants on the front step. 2774 steps – I ought to be able to reach 3000 before bed.

 The big news is that that package has safely arrived in London – the shawl, the Polliwog, and Rachel’s Christmas present. We are all of us Mileses, I think, agreed on the un-wisdom of anticipating babies too confidently. Rachel is the grandmother of both of the expected great-grandchildren; she will hand things out as appropriate. A Jewish friend told me once of their practice of buying a baby from God when it is a month old. I’ve never heard of that from any other source, but it seems a good idea. She had suffered such a loss – a baby who didn’t make it that far – as we have. Tens of thousands of people have baby showers and all is well – but I’d rather wait.

 Current affairs: I am enjoying thinking about our Prime Minister, going home to his expensively-decorated flat after a hard day of running the country, and saying to his girlfriend – how could he refrain? – “This is all your fault, dear.” And it is. 

But, oh dear! no knitting.

 

Sorry about yesterday. We were all assembled, from around the world, at blog-writing time, to watch a film about Helen and her mosaics and then she would answer questions. It was a disaster. First ten minutes when we couldn’t get in because the previous zoom session was running late. Then we got in and had ten minutes of a woman poking ineffectively at her keyboard. Then, finally, Helen answering questions – but the film was over.

 

Here it is, I hope. I think it’s excellent. It begins with a minute or two of the ineffective woman, but rapidly gets better:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EjBXfADx44

 

Today’s big excitement was that Alexander came to see us. I haven’t seen him since something like October – we sat out on the step that day, I remember, so it’s unlikely to have been too late in the year. I gave him his Christmas present, and we walked around the garden together. 2518 steps so far today – not enuf to aspire to 3000 before bedtime, really. I showed him the Jamieson & Smith pattern I’ve got (with a kit) for knitting Calcutta Cup leg-warmers, and he approved.

The weather is grey and cool. It has been the coldest April in umpteen years. A good thing it wasn't the hottest -- we'd all be fainting in coils. It has been consistently cold, at night anyway, so nature hasn't been coaxed forward in any untoward way.

 

Not much was done today on wee Hamish’s Calcutta Cup vest – I had unwisely left it within reach of the cats last night, and they had set upon it like furry Rumplestiltskins but with less success. No great harm was done – Shetland yarn really is “sticky” – but it took a while to untangle.

 

Comment: Shandy, that is an excellent idea, to listen to the Barbara Pym biography while I knit. I hope tomorrow. And Mary Lou, your most recent comment seems to have made it through.

 

Meanwhile I continue to read “I Vicere” but still haven’t achieved 40%, and am plunged into an historical event I don’t understand. Conversation for my next Italian lesson, if I can figure out what year it is meant to be happening in.

 

Cooler, greyer. A few drops of water even fell out of the sky – we haven’t seen that for a while. Not enough to do my nasturtiums any good. 2808 steps – I did the garden alone. I ought to be able to reach 3000 tonight.

 

Well, the secret of life is to make lists, or at least to write down one’s intentions. I took the tape measure to wee Hamish’s vest, as promised yesterday: I think I’m on target for a 28” circumference. That suggests I’ll want about 7 ½” of knitting on the body before introducing the armhole steeks, and the v-neck  a few rounds later. I’ve written all that down (and am amenable to suggestions). I’ve so far knit about 6”. My plan at the moment is to do all that, and then pause for however long it takes to set some cruise knitting in progress.

 

And as for that, Helen kindly sat down with me this morning and chose some shoes for me to order. Which has been done. As well as some socks. I think, essentially, that leaves only the cats to worry about.

 

And the nasturtiums. Helen has just left for the evening, clearly tired – if any watering is going to be done tonight, I must do it. That wiull help the step count.

 

I’ve pressed a bit forward with “I Vicere”. Eileen, I am very grateful for your suggestion of “The Meaningful Stitch”. I went for a podcast this morning that I had heard advertised on the BBC, and didn’t care for it at all, and fell back, so to speak, on Arne and Carlos. They have their charm. I’ll try “The Meaningful Stitch” tomorrow.

 

I’m also hoping to make my next batch of kimchi tomoirrow. As in the past, I have left it too late and have been forced to buy in some store-boughten. Despite Korean lettering all over the jar, it’s not nearly as good as mine.

 

Another bright and beautiful day. 2486 steps – down on yesterday. (I did reach 3000 by bedtime; I won’t attempt it this evening.) (The watering yesterday was successful, Shandy. Thank you for your concern. I won’t attempt that this evening either.)

 

I’m slightly further forward with wee Hamish’s vest. Are my hands losing their skill? or at any rate, their enthusiasm? Perhaps it’s time to employ a tape measure. What gauge am I actually getting? What will the circumference be? How much further to the underarms? And I could hunt up some more podcasts to knit to – I’m getting sort of tired of “Sit and Knit for a Bit with Arne and Carlos”.

 

I’m a bit further forward with “I Vicere”, too. Stashdragon (comment yesterday), it would be great fun to have you reading it at the same time. I seem to have been reading it forever, and yet am only 1/3^rd of the way through.

 

Helen and her friend are safely back from Kirkmichael, where all is well.

 

Another beautiful day, perhaps a bit colder. Helen has gone off to Kirkmichael with an old friend, after a week of very hard work. I think I had better use my last ounces of strength this evening carrying water to the plants on the front step (rather than knitting). I’ve done 2758 steps so far today. Would another 250 be possible? Water is heavy stuff, so I will have to make more trips than would once have been the case.

 

My shirt came from Toast today. It’s wonderful (and comfortable, and it fits).

 

Helen is OK. The dr said there have been lots of odd reactions to the vaccine (AstraZeneca, I think). She is undecided about whether to have the second dose. “A Serious Man” (see yesterday) doesn’t seem to be on Netflix, although a lot of Coen Brother films are. I think I may buy it. Searching for it last night, I read several critics, and it was interesting how different their conclusions were. I would say: It is a film about growing up Jewish in the American Midwest (as the Coens did). It is a film about human life. Odd, bad, undeserved things happen to good people all the time, and then you die; but a few good things happen, too. There probably isn’t a God, but there just might be, and if so, He’s unknowable. Shrodinger’s Cat comes into it at one point -- or perhaps doesn’t! It’s a very interesting film.

 

I have proceeded with “I Vicere”. I’m now further than I’ve ever progressed before, but goodness! it’s long. That’s the thing about Kindle – you have no sense of the size of a book even once it’s in your hands.