Another December day. Another sourdough loaf, without a cat:

 

I haven’t had a report from Helen yet – I gave it to her, after our walk – but it looks all right. I don’t normally keep bread in the house, for fear of eating too much butter, but perhaps I’ll make myself a loaf for Christmas, so that I can make sandwiches of my expensive black chicken. That used to be the part of Thanksgiving I enjoyed the most, turkey sandwiches. And Fred will make and enclose some mayonnaise with my chicken. (That’s interesting about black chickens in Chinatown, Sarah.)

 

There’s nothing in that loaf except flour and water and salt. How magical the sourdough process must have seemed when discovered in the stone age (and, indeed, still seems to me). Likewise the fermentation of wine and brewing of beer. No wonder Ceres and Bacchus were revered as gods.

 

Knitting

 

I’ve actually done some – finished off the first Evendoon sleeve, started the second. Perhaps a picture tomorrow. Congratulations on yours, Ivy!

 

Kate Davies’ pattern for the club last weekend was a cosy-looking pair of slippers with braid around the ankle. The essay was about braid-making, with a number of interesting possibilities. This really has been a super club – I think there’s one more week to go. I greatly look forward to the book.

 

AND I’ve sent off for yarn for a hap for one of the new great-grandchild. I got it all from Uradale Farm this time (where I have been, on my Yarn Adventure last year). No symbolism, just colours I liked. I’ll spread it all out and photograph it for you when it arrives. I’m encouraged to see that last year’s hap, started not long before Christmas, was finished by the end of January (see sidebar).

 

I notice that the Queen is expecting another great-grandchild at about the same time: the child of Princess Anne’s daughter Zara Phillips, as was, and former England rugby star Mike Tindall. Like my grandson Thomas and his wife Lucy, the Tindalls have two daughters and make no secret of wanting a boy.

 

Christmas

 

That’s a delicious article about bread sauce, Mary Lou (link with comment yesterday). It almost moved me to plan on making some – it’s very easy – but Helen says she will bring me some when she comes to administer my walk on Christmas Day. I’ll give her some cranberry sauce.

 

My Christmas dinner:

 

When I got up this morning, I said to myself that I would have a black chicken for my Christmas if someone had left a comment urging me to. So it’s on your head, Shandy. Fred says that they are not otherwise imported into the UK, and can only be eaten at fancy restaurants in France. I do agree with you, Tamar, that a chicken is just going to taste like a chicken, but we shall see. It will come with stuffing, gravy, and a potato gratin. I have also ordered parsnips, and I will add sprouts, maybe carrots, and cranberry sauce.

 

I will miss that happy ten minutes at the beginning of Christmas dinner, when everybody is passing the “sides” to everybody. Bread sauce was my husband’s must-have, as cranberry is mine. I’ll skip the pudding and the brandy butter.

 

Thank you all for bath suggestions. The last occupants of this flat were pretty old, too, and the bath is provided with excellent hand-rails, which do make a difference. We have a plastic stool which my husband used to use, when baths got difficult for him. It would take away all the fun, not go get into the water, but I think I may be past the stage of having fun in the bath. Another problem which must be faced soon is a low shelf of some sort for the cats’ food, so that I don’t have to bend all the way down to pick up their dishes. It’s no use being inspired by Jan Morris and by my friend Sylvia. They can do it; I can’t.

 

And I made my sourdough, all but the baking of it, which will be first thing tomorrow. It is remarkable how instructions vary. I think I am beginning to get the hang of it, but I still tend to cling to my original recipe. (“Always keep a hold of Nurse, for fear of finding something worse.”) I didn’t make a levain this time. I had fed my starter twice yesterday, with rye in the mixture, and this morning it was raring to go and passed the float test with ease. So I just used it as-was. All has gone well today – but one never really knows until one opens the oven at the end.

 

I am well advanced down the cuff of the first Evendoon sleeve.  I hope I’ll finish it this evening.

 

Another successful if fairly idle day. I meant to make sourdough, so, like last week, I mixed the levain last night. But this morning, it wasn’t ready-to-go. The test is whether a small piece will float in warm water. Mine sunk like a stone. I feel sure it was over-proved. I’ve been including rye flour in my starter feed of late, and that is like putting a starter on steroids. Should I have gone ahead anyway? It couldn’t have been dead. Maybe it would have sprung into action. But I didn’t want to waste a day’s work and all that flour.

 

So tomorrow I’ll go back to the old system, and mix the levain first thing in the morning.

 

No knitting, I’m afraid. I’ve been idly reading Jan Morris’ diaries. In her 92^nd year, she walked a mile a day (1000 steps) and read in the bath. I used to do that, long ago. VK was a favourite. But now I don’t dare sit down, for fear of not being able to get up again. I kneel, and take the legs one at a time when we get to that stage. No reading.

 

Archie came We got around the garden. He persuaded my iPad to disgorge pictures again. Here is Paradox, slightly blurry, with last week’s sourdough loaf. 

And we did some paper work.

 

I also got back into Craftsy. I had to re-set my password, because of all their changes, and for some reason password-resetting didn’t work on the iPad. But did, here on the laptop. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten most of my courses. I spent some idle time refreshing my stir-fry technique.

 

I’ve been feeding myself, some weeks, with carry-outs from a dear local restaurant, l’Escargot Bleu. Today they put their Christmas menu up. Fred is eloquent about la poule noir, volaille du Mans, a black chicken popular at noble French tables in the 17^th century, he says, and recently rescued from near-extinction. He has himself only eaten it twice in his life, and hopes we will leave him one for Hogmanay. It’s terribly expensive. Maybe I should have macaroni cheese and give the money to the poor. I’ll think about it overnight.

 

Not too bad a day. Successful bath and hair wash. The Evendoon has been advanced to the wrist ribbing of the first sleeve, although that is not finished.

 

Anne (comment yesterday), thank you for your reference to Dr Frances Kelsey, who saved the US from the scourge of thalidomide. (There is a letter in the Times today, making my point of a couple of days ago that caution saved the US; although Dr Kelsey isn’t given credit.)

 

Reading the Wikipedia entry about her, and going on to read about thalidomide itself, has agitated me a good deal. Rachel was born at the end of June, 1958. When I first saw a doctor – things were different in those days – and grumbled about morning sickness, he tossed a package of something across the desk and said, You could try these. I took one of them the next day, but then threw the rest away. The package said that they were tranquilizers, and I was a bit offended at the idea that this was “all in the mind” or that tranquillity would make a difference.

 

I have remembered the episode, as you see, but I always thought it couldn’t have been thalidomide because the dates didn’t fit. In fact, as I discovered from Wikipedia yesterday, they nearly do. Thalidomide was invented in 1957. Late ’57 would have been just the moment for the manufacturers to send the pills around to GP’s in the hopes that they would be prescribed for pregnant women. (In Germany, they were available without prescription.) They were recommended for morning sickness, and also as a tranquilizer.

 

But then I asked Google the natural-language question, When was thalidomide approved for use in the UK? And the answer was, 1958. By 1958 I was feeling better. The consultation I describe must have been late ’57. So those pills were probably a different tranquilizer-recommended-for-morning-sickness. I can calm down. We’ll never know. It would have been nice to think I got something right, once in my long life, all by myself.

 

Cam, my doctor-sister confirms what your Irish pharmacist said, that thalidomide is a useful drug in a number of contexts. I think (Wikipedia again) that it is still in use, but kept well away from pregnant women.

 

The weather was kindly today, at least as far as December can be expected to go. C. came, and we got around the garden. No walking tomorrow, as I mean to have a bath and hair wash while my cleaner is here (I’m afraid of falling) and then will steam gently dry.

 

You’re absolutely right, Tamar – I didn’t mean, yesterday, to suggest that thalidomide was a vaccine; only that it was a spectacular case of British regulators getting it wrong whereas the more cautious Americans were right. I listened to Americast today (while knitting); they played Fauci’s remarks with a bit of context. It certainly didn’t sound like a “mis-speak”. It sounded as if he thought the British were a bit precipitate.

 

Your remark about the possibility of a “bad batch” is interesting, too. This stuff has to be kept at a seriously low temperature. What if it warms up a bit, in the course of being transported from place to place and from hand to hand? Would it just become useless? Or something worse? We had a woman who is head of a public health body – I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the initials – with Andrew Marr this morning. She tossed out a line about people who are taking blood-thinners, saying that it was perfectly all right for them to have the vaccine. That’s ME. It’s the only medication I take. Apixiban, it’s called, or something like that – at least no longer warfarin, on which I started out, after my pulmonary embolisms four years ago.

 

I found the relevant  paragraph on the website of the public health body. It said more or less the same thing. But why mention it? Lots of people take lots of drugs. Why reassure us, in particular, that the vaccine is Perfectly All Right?

 

Sometimes, in the evening, when I weary of whatever I’m reading and of Italian cookery shows, I re-read my blog. Last night I went back to December and November of last year, and was horrified to discover how much more energetic I sounded than I feel now. And how much more knitting I was doing than I seem to manage now. I was already well advanced on the centre square of Hamish Myemi’s hap in the colours of the South African flag.

 

I went to the Craftsy website with the thought of looking at Gudrun Johnston’s hap pattern, at least to see what quantities are required, but Craftsy has changed hands a couple of times recently, and my password didn’t work, and they haven’t responded to my request to set a new one. I went to Jamieson & Smith anyway, and was slightly alarmed to find that (a) Gudrun’s pattern, which they sell as a kit, is “out of stock”. How on earth? All they have to do is press Print and pluck a few balls of yarn from the shelf. And (b) several shades of jumper-weight red (which I had sort of thought of majoring in) are also “out of stock”. I had a look at Jamieson’s of Shetland and also Uradale – they seem to be all right for reds, although one was missing.

 

I must have printed the pattern. I’ve knit it twice. I’ll have a look tomorrow, when they turn the light back on.

 

Meanwhile, today, I dug some 4mm dps out of the stash cupboard and switched to them for the Evendoon sleeve. A vast improvement. I had been having trouble, with my two-circular system, in moving the stitches from the plastic cord to the needle. Is that join called the “hasp”? And it had to be done twice for every round. Now I’m whizzing around, and hope to finish the first sleeve while I’m steaming dry after my bath tomorrow.

 

Onward. I mentioned recently that I have, in cowardly fashion, ordered some new dps. Both yesterday and today I got a package in the mail which was just the right size and consistency, and both packages were something to do with Christmas, nothing to do with knitting. Maybe I had better take some time for a Serious Search, for there is now no hope at all from the postman until Monday. I’m sure I’ve got suitable needles somewhere. Two circulars work fine, but it’s slow going. I’ve finished another stripe.

 

I had a good Italian lesson this morning, and a good Zoom session with my sister at midday. She thinks women chess players will be as good as the very grandmaster-y best in a few more years. I’m not so sure. But since neither of us will live to find out, there’s no use fretting about it. She and her husband are going to stay away from their beloved (and nearby) grandsons at Christmas, but will invite some friends from the retirement community to join them for the day.

 

I was flattened by Italian, as usual, and the weather was filthy. I persuaded Helen to let me not go for a walk.

 

She is slightly worried about the vaccine, because the system is completely different from anything we've had before. She doesn’t expect to be offered it before February. Mass inoculation should be well under way in Britain by then, which will provide more evidence. US regulators, I seem to remember, never approved thalidomide; British ones did.

 

I had a good go at on-line Christmas shopping today, and have pretty well finished as much of the job as I intend to do. Not quite.

 

Barbara Pym “A Few Green Leaves” continues to sooth and amuse. I’m glad you agree with my contemporary identification of Lord Copper in “Scoop”, Mary Lou. And thank you for the information about withers.

 

Shandy, bless you and thank you for Barbara Pym’s “A Few Green Leaves”. I’m a fan, but it’s not one I know, and it’s just what the doctor ordered for these last grim days before the solstice. It’s very skilful, in its management of a fairly large cast and the shifts of points of view.

 

Mary Lou, I’m not at all sure I could identify a “wither” if you were suddenly to confront me with a horse. I’m glad to have introduced you to the phrase, and am delighted to hear that it appears in “Hamlet”.

 

I have done no knitting so far today, but have hopes of curling up with a podcast soon. I’m afraid I’ve ordered some dps. I hope they’ll come tomorrow. I’m hoping that today’s “Americast” will have gone up, but failing that, something from The Food Chain. The weather sounds ugly out there. Helen got me around the garden this morning in slight rain.

 

She says that my latest sourdough loaf has begun to go stale much faster than a store-boughten one would have. That is unexpected, as keeping quality is meant to be one of the attractions of sourdough. It still makes delicious toast, she says.

 

My Amazon delivery arrived not long after I wrote to you yesterday. Its “slot” was 3pm to 6pm, and the first time I logged on to “Track Your Delivery” after 6, the message had changed to “Your package will still be delivered today.” It is the thinking of things like that that made Mr Bezos the rich man he is.

 

Our virus: I am waiting with interest (but no impatience) to see what happens next around here. I’m fairly high up the list, given my age. I wouldn’t entirely mind waiting for one of the other two vaccines. Helen is dubious about the whole thing. We’ve had a considerable fuss here because of Dr Fauci’s saying the other day that the British regulators acted too fast, in approving the first one. Then he gave an interview to the BBC denying that he had said what he had said. Perhaps he didn’t realise, when he first spoke, how well known his name is here and therefore how widely he would be reported. But the episode wasn’t reassuring, for nervous old ladies.

 

A dispiriting day. I am waiting for a delivery. It’s Amazon, so it’ll probably turn up, although it has exceeded its time-slot. It’s cider, so I can’t just go to bed and let them leave it on the doorstep. No nap. I’m weary.

 

Helen came this morning. The weather has turned. We even had a bit of sad snow. We didn’t go out. She walked me around the house until I cried for mercy. Better than nothing. She says that the latest sourdough loaf was the best yet. Here is a picture of it:

 

The speckles are because I was using bread flour with seeds in.

 

So I am greatly encouraged, and mean to go on baking once a week. Perhaps it actually liked my taking more time for the levein (see Monday). That meant that all the other processes were a bit more leisurely, too, because I started first thing in the morning, instead of waiting half the day for the levein to be ready. And the final proof, in the refrigerator, was also prolonged. I kept being afraid of over-proofing – which is a danger to be avoided – but not this time, at least.

 

The Evendoon (spelled right, this time, I think) is progressing steadily if not exactly briskly on two circulars. Five stripes to go, of which the final one is the wrist ribbing. I found myself with all the stitches on one needle only once, so far.

 

No reading. That Italian thriller has left me with my withers wrung. I’m afraid to start another of his (Carlo Lucarelli) for fear it would be even scarier; not what one wants in these dark days. I am re-reading Il Gattopardo, where at least I know what to expect.

 

The sourdough turned out well – at least, it had plenty of “oven spring” and looked suitably risen. I gave it to Helen when she came for my walk. She has promised a picture of the crumb. I took a picture of the loaf itself, with a cat, but it’s stuck in the iPad. I thought Archie had fixed that.

 

I am much encouraged, and mean to press on. One of my favourite sourdough writers, James Morton, offers a cure for a problem that worries me: why doesn’t my starter increase in volume when I feed it? It bubbles appreciatively. It tastes deliciously sour and vinegar-y. And it leavens a loaf of bread. Morton says to feed it every day for a while, and include some rye or wholemeal in the diet. I’ll keep you posted.

 

And, although I haven’t done much knitting since I was last here, I have switched from Magic Loop to Two Circulars, and I think they will see me through. I wish I had at least considered your solution, Shandy – knitting the sleeves flat and attaching them afterwards, although I fear that would have spoiled the flow of the stripes, at least in my clumsy hands. My previous experience with Two Circulars was like yours, Kristen, with all the stitches winding up on the same needle. So far, I am being very, very careful every time I change needles and all is well. I watched a video with Cat Bhordi, who seems to have unvented the system, but there’s really nothing to it. How right you are, Chloe, to marvel at our different brains.

 

I had a good time at my sister’s club in DC yesterday, listening to a talk about Il Gattopardo. Although the Zoom meeting cast its shadow before, nervous-tension-wise, and left me unfit even to write to you yesterday. I disagreed quite a lot with the speaker. She seemed to admire Visconti’s film more than Lampedusa’s  wonderful book, and even said that Visconti was right to lop the last two chapters off. She said it was all about Garibaldi and the Risorgimento, which is true, but that made it sound boring. The book is really about the Prince and his family. Everything else goes on in the background. Visconti has a whole battle scene -- in the streets of Palermo? -- but there is nothing like that in the book.

 

I’ve been re-reading it, as I often do. I wish I had realised, when Archie and I were last there, that it was in the railway station in Catania where the Prince first saw Death, in her elegant travelling costume, veiled and gloved. He had insisted on travelling back from Naples to Palermo by train, instead of taking the ferry. A mistake with which Archie and I can sympathise, although we were going right down to the toe of Italy to see the Riace bronzes so there was no escape from that tedious journey. The book is vague about how a train crossed the straits of Messina in those days – now, they put it on a ferry.

 

From there, the Prince travelled to Catania, down the right-hand edge of the island, and then overland to Palermo which is on the top edge. Now, you must choose at Messina and go to one or the other. But I wish I had taken more of a look at the station in Catania.

Dies Atra

 

Another fairly nice day, by November’s standards. Another circuit of the garden. I got a couple of trivial things done, too: I renewed the New Yorker, and wrote to my Italian tutor (which has to be done in Italian).

 

And I made  some progress on that Evandoon sleeve. I’ve decided that Magic Loop isn’t for me, after all. The only dps I can find without a Serious Search are half a millimetre too small, 3.5s instead of 4s. I think I’ll try them anyway, tomorrow. I’m about down to the elbow of this first sleeve. I’d really like to speed things up.

 

Kate Davies’ weekend essay this time was about patchwork, which the latest pattern strongly suggests. It is interesting, as has been the case with her essays all along.

 

I didn’t mean to suggest yesterday that women aren’t, often, very, very good at chess. I am proud to discover this talent among you. But they don’t yet play at the very top. My sister has suggested a Zoom meeting at the end of the week, at which she will tell me her thots on the subject. I tremble, slightly. Also, I am going – via Zoom – to a talk at her club in DC tomorrow, about Il Gattopardo. That can’t fail to be interesting.

 

I’ve finished Lucarelli’s “Almost Blue”. It’s the best thriller I’ve read in a while, really scary.

 

I’m going to attempt sourdough again tomorrow. It’s been a while. I’ve revved up my starter -- that means taking it out of the refrigerator and feeding it every day for a while, until it gets nice and bubbly. The innovation this time is going to be to make my “levain” tonight, so that I’ll be ready for the off when I get up tomorrow. My recipe says to leave it about 8 hours – that’s not quite long enough, the way I sleep. But other recipes say 12 hours, which would be fine. Advice is everywhere, and often conflicting. I feel a great loyalty to my recipe, because it has worked pretty well so far, starting from complete ignorance on my part. (Good Food Magazine, May 2020). But I think it’s time to be adventurous.

 

Another nice day, in a Novembrine sort of way, heavy with mist. C. came, and we got around the garden. Andrew Marr advanced the Evendoon sleeve a bit – it is certainly a nuisance, spinning the whole thing around on my lap, and the second sleeve will be worse. And I’ve got to polish this off and knuckle down to baby-knitting. On the other hand, I am appreciating the fact that a sleeve is of much smaller circumference than a body.

 

Fruity Knitting has put up a question-and-answer session with Marie Wallin. Maybe I can advance that sleeve a bit more this evening. I don’t think I’ve ever knit one of her designs, but I think I’ve got a Fair-Isle-yoke kit of hers in stash.

 

Another thing I’ve got to do is finish off that shawl (see sidebar) and block it, possibly to give to somebody for Christmas – who would want it? -- but certainly so that it can be ranked with the FO’s of 2020.

 

Comments

 

Janet, thank you for the news that there is a blog post from the Harlot at last. And she means to post more often.

 

Mary Lou, I keenly look forward to your opinion of “Scoop” – and of Lord Copper.

 

Jenny, alas, no, I don’t think I’m strong enough to go to Italy again. And it’s sort of nice to think of never again experiencing an airport. Archie keeps pressing for Syracuse (since we’ve “done” Palermo and Catania). Who knows – I may be suddenly revitalised. I mean to do a “dry” January again. That might help. If I could only hire the Royal Yacht, and fill it with congenial souls and a brilliant chef, and sail from Leith to the Mediterranean, it would be a different matter.

 

Opinion

 

I fear I may be heading for trouble here. Helen, like everybody else in the world, has been watching Queen’s Gambit on YouTube, and loving it. I’ll have to try. Helen is a devout feminist, and was slightly surprised when I told her that women don’t play chess in the same league as men. (I’d be happy to be corrected on that, but I heard the British Women’s Chess Champion on the radio just the other day, and I think that means that I’m right, at least in GB.)

 

Why is that? Obviously, physical strength doesn’t come in to it. Thirty or forty years ago, I might have been told that girls were brought up not to expect to be good at chess. I would have been dubious, even then. But now, when women do brain surgery and pilot jumbo jets -- and play college football with the boys, I learned today -- why not top-rank chess? Could there be something different about the male brain, after all? It may be just as well: a distressing number of top-flight male chess players have had serious mental illness.

 

Another pleasant, sunny November day. Helen and I walked to the corner shop – almost as far, I think, as a circuit of the garden – because I needed ginger for some ramen I hope to make tomorrow. No knitting – this is appalling – but a new episode of the podcast Americast is up, and I hope to knit to it this evening.

 

So, what else has been happening? Kate Davies’ pattern this week is a terrific blanket, with stars. This year’s club really has been good value. I gather we’re near the end, and the book will be coming soon.

 

I’ve just watched Franklin’s video about a horizontal travelling stitch. The Dunfallandy blankie, in Knitty, had horizontal cables. I knit it for my first great-granddaughter.  I’ve completely forgotten how they were done. It might be worth looking back. Franklin is wonderful, as always.

 

Comments

 

How clever of you to get “Crape Myrtle” on Pointless yesterday, jean(fromcornwall)! Twice – or was there a third occasion? – I have thought of a pointless answer for the final – that’s over many years. One was to name a Cambridge college more than 200 years old, and I tried Rachel’s husband Ed’s college: Downing. And it was pointless. And once was Booker prize winners, and I thought of Anita Brookner, Hotel du Lac. Similarly, pointless. She was an art historian as well as a novelist, and a friend of my husband’s, so that was almost cheating. We were watching the ceremony on television the night she won. She gave a little start of surprise at the announcement, which was very touching. Everybody thought it was going to be David Lodge, that year.

 

Mary Lou, you have a treat in store, if you’ve never read “Scoop”.  You must tell me whether you agree with my identification of Lord Copper as Donald Trump.

 

I had a good Italian lesson this morning. At the end, my tutor wrote on the screen (this is Skype) some phrases from my clumsy conversation which had been wrong. They were easy enough to correct, when I saw them written down. That was a useful exercise, I think. I will write to tell her so tomorrow, and that, in itself, will be a useful exercise – writing is far harder than anything else. I am reading a rather good Italian thriller called “Almost Blue” by Carlo Lucarelli. Translation available: I think it would translate well. The title is in English, even in Italian, so to speak.

 

All well. Helen and I succeeded in getting twice around the garden this morning, as hoped, although it pretty well flattened me for the day. She suggests that we try to do it once a week, which is not a bad idea.

 

I’ve been reading Jan Morris’ diaries, hoping for some insight into the problems of old age. Not much luck. She conscientiously did 1000 steps a day, on her walks, when older than I am. I’ll have to figure out how many are involved in circling the garden. Fewer than that, I suspect.

 

Not much knitting, as usual. But a little. I think the Magic Loop is going to work fine.

 

Jeanfromcornwall, I watched Pointless this evening, but it won’t do. It must have been filmed Before. There’s a studio audience – you can see them from behind. And there’s no sign of social distancing among the contestants, not all of whom (clearly) live in each other’s bubble. Of course I know it’s not broadcast live, but back Then I could suspend disbelief enough to imagine that it had been filmed within the last week or two. No longer, and I’m afraid it’s spoiled for me. What a lot they must have up their sleeve, to be able to go on doing this.

 

I’ve also done a quick re-read of “Scoop”. I had an email from Penguin yesterday, with a list of books chosen for cheerfulness, including that one. (No Wodehouse on the list, which seems odd.) They’re right, it’s very funny. It has contributed “Up to a point” to our family vocabulary, and “…on a biting-cold mid-June morning” to my own private list of favourite phrases. Lord Copper is absolutely President Trump.

 

 Harry Dunn’s parents have lost their case in the High Court, trying to argue that Mrs Sakoolas (who killed their son by driving on the wrong side of the road) didn’t have diplomatic immunity and shouldn’t have been allowed to go back to the USofA.  If Mrs S. had any wit, she would be able to deduce from this that she will be treated fairly by British courts if she comes back here and faces the music. Pompeo refused to extradite her. Maybe, with a new administration… I’m glad the parents are fighting on.

 

Another pleasant day, weather-wise. Another good walk. Helen and I are contemplating attempting two circuits of the garden tomorrow.

 

And I’m somewhat further with the Evendoon. The colours have been straightened out, anyway. All my life I have been congratulating myself on having a passion that required so little physical strength – I could go on knitting into extreme old age! It’s still true, but I’m not doing much. I thought today I would try watching my once-beloved quiz program, Pointless – and found I was watching a prime ministerial coronavirus program instead. Not much knitting got done.

 

Mary Lou, I have very little experience with the Magic Loop but it certainly seems worth trying. It used to make me feel as if I were tripping over my shoelaces.

 

“Knitting” magazine arrived today – the British one. There are two interesting articles about sheep farming. One is from homefarmwensleydales.com where Wensleydale sheep (a rare breed) are raised for their wool, never for eating. The magazine is going to take us through the shepherd’s year – this article is about introducing the rams to the ewes; the next, in the spring, will be about lambing.

 

The other is about colonsaywoolgrowers.co.uk. on the island of Colonsay, where they use the waste products from a local gin distillery as a source of natural dyes. Their yarn is too heavy for my taste. The Wensleydale yarn is better. I think I knit with it once, many years ago, purchased at a fair of some sort, made into a striped sweater for Helen’s husband David. If I’m right, it was lovely stuff to handle.

 

Newspapers have been grumbling again recently about how farmers have to compost their wool and spread it on the fields because nobody wants it. Newspapers don’t know that sheep bred for their meat don’t often produce much of use in the way of wool. An exception might be Shetland sheep – but they are small animals and I don’t think their meat is much exported from Shetland itself.

 It’s hard to be entirely hostile to global warming, if it’s going to involve pleasant weather in November, this most depressing of months. I got around the garden with Helen.

 

I’ve cast off the body of the Evandoon, slow work, and picked up stitches for the first sleeve. I think it was you, Mary Lou, who taught me to use something slippy for the waste yarn, when stitches have to be set aside for future use. That went well, and the count is right for the size I had already decided I was embarked on. I have set boldly forth with the wrong colour, but probably not for more than 20 stitches. It will be easily put right. I’m still not used to knitting upside down.

 

I’m using a short circular. I haven’t read ahead, and don’t know how briskly the sleeve will decrease, obliging me to face the DP problem at last.

 

I did some more theoretical Christmas shopping today. Results continue depressing. I thought of some good things, and even found them on line – “out of stock”. Mugs continue to abound. The one thing to be said for the process, is that things which seemed absurdly expensive at the beginning, began to look quite possible before I was through.

 

Mary Lou, I’ll have a look for “Rise of the Nazis” – if it is BBC, it should be available. And maybe it’ll turn up on Netflix. It would fit right in with all that Mitford-reading I did recently.

 

Kirsten, I am much comforted by your thought that this is “feebleness weather”.

 

Have a good turkey, everybody.

 

Another day of not-much, including no knitting. Archie came, and we got some things done including a hobble around the garden – I think I must have quite a good consecutive-day thing going at the moment, on that front. We mastered paying cheques into the bank via app -- that’s going to save a lot of trouble. And of course we’re all feeling more cheerful about the world, what with Trump letting Biden into the White House (so to speak) and the vaccine situation looking good. Rachel rang up and spoke rather fiercely about Christmas.

 

Comments

 

Cat, you could write to Harry and tell him that his mother was very kind to you. It must be hard indeed for them all, “The Crown”. On the whole, it does favour Charles, but it’s fairly hard on Diana, too – all that bulimia.

 

Thank you for observations about my feeble health. Tamar, that is a good idea – when are your ideas ever less than good? – about keeping a diary of food consumed and watching for matches with general sprightliness. Mary Lou, I’m pretty sure I’m sleeping all right. I get up to pee a lot, but am out like a light when head strikes pillow. Paradox is almost always there, at the foot of the bed, and it is a comfort to see her. And I must tell you, although this is not strictly relevant, that it is a blessing consciously appreciated every night as I slip between the sheets, that I am not going to have to get up to look after anyone, neither a baby nor a husband; nor will I have to lie awake worrying about an errant adolescent.

 

Another day of great feeblesness, hard to get from room to room, but otherwise fine. Helen came in the morning and we got around the garden: an achievement. She has got tee shirts and carrier bags and iPad covers for sale with mosaics on them, on a website called Red Bubble. It’s not entirely easy to navigate. When you get there, her things are “hmmosaics”.

 

I had a good Zoom with my sister, midday for me, early morning for her. No news: I think the BBC is doing rather a good job of filleting DC for us. She and her husband are not going to see their son and his family either for Thanksgiving or for Christmas. I wasn’t quite sure which of the households is exercising more caution – probably it’s mutual. My sister and her husband and their cat live in a retirement community which is doing very well, so far, at keeping the virus out. I think, being a doctor, and being in the US where things are bad, that she maybe even more scared than I am. She hopes to come to see me next year, once she has been vaccinated. (And this is good news indeed, about vaccines.)

 

I’m poised for the cast-off round of the Evandoon ribbing. 

This morning’s Times said that if you like “The Crown”, you should watch – also on Netflix – “Diana in her Own Words”. Wow! How could I have missed it?  It consists, with illustrations, of the actual tapes she made for Andrew Morton, on which his famous/infamous book are based. My mother was devoted to the Royal Family, to the extent that I felt vaguely, growing up, that we had some sort of connection with them, although knowing perfectly well that that wasn’t true. What would she had made of Diana?

 

All well. C. came today, and we got around the garden in bright, chill November weather. Helen and I got soaked, yesterday.

 

The Evandoon ribbing progresses well. Only a round or two to go. I counted the stitches. If the answer is to be believed, I’m knitting one size larger than I thought I was. Just as well, probably.

 

Miscellaneous

 

The great thing about podcasts, though, (comments yesterday) is that you can knit to them. I used to knit and read – and enjoyed the way my Kindle could increase the scale of the typeface when I did so. It’s not that I can’t do it anymore, but it  seems too much trouble. Whereas knitting to a podcast remains easy and pleasant.

 

(I don’t watch much television these days, and didn’t get much knitting done while I was binging on “The Crown” last week – but I might mention that the BBC is showing “Yes, Prime Minister” again, and I find it still laugh-aloud funny. The first episode – which mentioned Afghanistan, and something that wasn’t going to happen “until 2020” – was about how he could blow up the world if he wanted to, but there was no provision for his lunch.)

 

Tamar, thank you for your comment about vitamins and minerals. You inspire me to try harder.

 

I’ve been re-reading Jan Morris’ “Conundrum”. It’s really very interesting. It’s an autobiography, with her life-long conviction that she was really a woman as the common thread. She didn’t “trans” until she was middle-aged, in her 40’s, and when she did, she went the whole hog, surgery in Casablanca.

 

Another pleasant but inactive day. I had a good Italian lesson. We talked about politics. Helen came and we got around the garden. Christina and Manaba and wee Hamish came to call. He’s a bonny baby, on the cusp of being able to crawl.

 

Weavinfool asks (comment yesterday) what I mean when I say – as often – that I feel feeble. It’s something like what one feels when recovering from flu, I guess. Everything is a tremendous effort. Moving about is difficult. Much of the day is spent at the kitchen table, doing nothing. That could be regarded as a moral fault rather than a physical one, perhaps. I am trying to focus on hydration. Perhaps I should take a general vitamin pill as well as my daily Vitamin D. I think my diet is more or less OK. Probably too much cider. My heart doesn’t function at a 21-year-old level – something about systole and diastole. Doctors say it’s common at my age.

 

I’m at the stage of the Evandoon ribbing when it seems endless, but in fact it’s moving on nicely. I’m currently winding a new skein. Still haven’t looked for the dps which will be needed any moment now.

 

I’m enjoying Franklin’s vlogs, although not as much as I would enjoy having the Panopticon back. I watched one today about Knitting to Fit, and was disappointed to discovered that the key to it is measuring and swatching. I thought he would reveal a magic secret.

 

I spent some of today Christmas shopping on-line. Depressing. I didn’t actually buy anything. The only things I saw that attracted were mugs, and one of my theories of life is that everybody already has as many mugs as they could ever want.

I loved your plan for a simple Chrustmas, Sarah. I wish I had a tree in a pot. We always used to do it that way, but the pots with their trees were in Kirkmichael. Eventually each became too big, and was planted out and replaced. One year, not too long ago, we were all set to go, turkey and replacement tree ordered, when something happened, I can’t remember what, The weather turned nasty, but that wouldn’t have stopped us. We bought a plastic tree at Poundland of which we became very fond. And a replacement turkey here: it was like the parable of the wise virgins and the foolish virgins, in reverse. I went along to our (excellent) local butcher that morning, and there were all the wise virgins queuing outside the shop in the snow for their pre-ordered turkeys, and I waltzed in past them all and chose one at the counter.

 

I’ve been (and I feel) fairly inert, but I got around the garden with Helen this morning. We often meet friends there, as today, and stand and talk at a safe social distance, and it’s rather nice, in these isolated times, to talk to people. 

I am planning a solitary Christmas for myself, and rather looking forward to it. I think I would be “allowed” to spend it with Helen and her family. The poor USA, apart from other difficulties – the virus raging, and Thanksgiving as well as Christmas to spread it further! I’m glad to hear that the Oxford vaccine is almost ready to join the other two.

 

I’ve knit a bit more of the Evandoon ribbing. (It was a comfort, Mary Lou, to learn that even you sometimes forget what size you’re knitting.)  Friday is the day when the podcast column appears in the Times. Today’s revelation was Part One of a new series about Ghislaine Maxwell, called “Hunting Ghislaine”. Very interesting. Today’s episode was mostly about her father Robert.

 

Friday is also Reveal Day for the new Kate Davies pattern in the current club. Again, a good ‘un. A big almost-coat with a broad Fair Isle band around the bottom, and deep pockets.

 

I was sorry to learn that Jan Morris has died – she was Britain’s most famous transsexual. It’s a remarkable story. She started life as James, happily married, father of five, a successful journalist. James was on the slopes of Mount Everest, and his was the scoop, that Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tensing had climbed Everest, which was announced to the world on the day of the Queen’s coronation. I don’t know what, in law, happens to a marriage when one partner changes sex, but whatever it is, Jan Morris and her former wife formed a civil partnership and continued to live happily ever after. She continued to write.