I am reading the new book by Rose Tremain, it’s called Trespass. It’s making me restless; I am like a bird on a wire. Ha. It’s set in France, and describes houses with gardens and chairs set to gaze at the rural scenes, and smell the smells of countryside and earth.

We are putting our flat on the market and I am sore inside about it, as we have got it so nice, but now that all my birds have flown and the other flat hasn’t sold, needs must as they say. My friends have been giving me some fierce advice this week…Irene quelled my sentimentality and told me that big girrils must wear big girril pants…aye, maybe so.

Nick left in a storm.  Missed his connections, and had me walking the floor in desperation. When he finally got on the train for Reading, I was overwhelmed with grief.  Another good friend, Roddy, reminded me curtly that the script of our lives is not predictable and certainly not written by Walt Disney… but why not, I cry? How I wish it was. When I was in charge, everyone wore matching ribbons and the sun shone everyday. Roddy suggested that I give myself a shake and treat myself to a curry and a beer. Again….aye, maybe so!

Back to France, and the misty mornings looking out at sunflowers. All these idle dreams, and we haven’t even officially opened the doors for viewing. Maybe this one won’t sell either…but if it does I do want to live in a house with a garden and have a table under a tree for lunch. And a washing line.

A few years ago I had such daydreams about Drimnin. John and I went to see this old shepherd’s cottage up on the Morven peninsula, overlooking the sound of Mull. It was quite a ruin, but so peaceful. Anyway it sold and that was that. Imagine my joy seeing it back on the market, all done up, with a new roof and so on.

But, they are asking too much I feel, and there isn’t much of a garden. Still, it has a room that looks out over the sound and it’s so quiet that even the wildcat kittens will venture down on to the road, and the farmer that owns the field in front vows that he won’t even allow a mouse to make his house in it.

John has been repotting the pyrocanthus and planting primroses which give these city flats just a lovely splash of spring time.

I have been knitting all my worries and frustrations into my two new jumpers…they will one day be an aid to shipping. I should just stand on a cliff like a warning sign. Ha Ha.

Here is my new beautiful one…I do love these colours.

So from woeful me, in woeful Edinburgh…where Welsh rugby fans are parading their colours of victory…it’s back to knit one purl one, knit one purl one!