My grandson rang to ask whether he could borrow a book he remembered seeing here. I was pleased he remembered it, and somewhat less pleased when he could describe the cover but not the title or the author. We found it between us. He said he would come and collect it himself instead of asking his mother to bring it. I told him that would be grand and that there was no hurry. There is no hurry. Nevertheless, I have put it on the table rather than returning it to the shelf. He may want the other one by the same author, so that is beside it. Two books will not overcrowd him.

A word I could not place at eleven came to me while I was washing the egg saucepan, when I had stopped asking for it. I dried my hands and wrote it into the crossword before doing anything else. The answer fitted, although I am not convinced I understood the clue correctly. That is more irritating than an empty space. My daughter says an answer is an answer. It is not, if one has arrived at it for the wrong reason. I have left the paper folded to that page and shall look again in the morning. There are things on the radio that receive considerably less thought and considerably more confidence.

I sat by the kitchen window to mend the sleeve of my cardigan. Threading the needle took two attempts, but the actual stitching was easier once my fingers had warmed around the cup of tea. I had put the cup down on the wrong side and kept reaching across the work for it. Moved it eventually. The sun was on my right arm for most of the afternoon and I did not notice the room getting cool until I stood up. My feet were cold again. The cardigan is wearable, though the repair shows if one looks closely. I am wearing it now. There is no reason to wait for another day.