The Shetland savings are getting close enough that I can no longer treat the trip as a pleasant idea that costs nothing. I've started looking at the journey and keep getting caught on the changes between flights, imagining myself standing in the wrong queue with a suitcase full of sensible clothes. I managed a household and a child without much assistance; presumably I can manage an airport. Still, that isn't quite the same kind of knowing. I wrote down the parts I don't understand so I can ask a travel agent specific questions instead of saying the whole thing looks difficult. Admiral will need somewhere to stay, too. That is a real arrangement to make, not a reason to put it off another year.

A woman who bought my knitting pattern sent a photograph of the finished piece. She said she'd made it for her sister, and I was more touched by that than by the sale itself. Something I worked out at my own kitchen table is now in a family I don't know. I nearly forwarded it to my daughter with an apology for making a fuss, then thought better of the apology. My daughter rang later and asked to see the other colours people had used. We spent a good part of the call on it. Usually I save my news until she's finished hers, and sometimes there isn't much call left. It was right some nice to be the one with a thing to show.

Damp off the harbour today, and my thumbs noticed before the rest of me. I was fastening Admiral's lead and couldn't get a comfortable grip on the little clip, though once we were outside the walk itself felt fine. Knitting was less agreeable this evening. The ache builds slowly enough that I keep bargaining for another row, then putting the work down hurts because I have to straighten my fingers. I tried the larger needles for a while and that was easier, not quite the same movement. There is no deadline on this sweater except the one I've made up. I've put it away for tonight, but my hands keep arranging themselves as if there were still wool between them.