Crab still untouched. It lurks unhappily on rocks at far end of tank, his former hidey-hole now inhabited by the octopus, el senor Pulpo. Granny thinks crab survives because too big for octopus to manage. Beloved says 'wait and see.' El senor came out once this morning when offered half a baby squid. Has not eaten it, though it looks like crab did make a meal of the other half. Octopus' head is hidden now. Previously the little jutting part of the head with eyes on stuck out. Eyes closed - dark slits in round white eyeballs. When octopus investigated squid they were open and dark. It is such a beautiful creature in its monstrous way. As with last octopus that got suffocated by powercut - a problem with tanks here - granny finds it hard to do anything but watch it. Same applies to anyone else who visits. Beloved, the animal scientist, once shared a laboratory with the octopus researchers so he knows a bit, and is (a little) more blase.

Esoteric information for anyone who wants it:
1) octopus ink is lethal for everything else, so you have to be careful not to alarm them enough to release it.
2) Octopus urine is very strong; this means seawater has to be changed more often to avoid amoniacal deaths to other species.
3)Octopus are clever escapologists. Looking up information about them on the internet, granny happened on case of goldfish-fed one, which used to get out of its own tank, cross the floor to the goldfish tank, catch a fish and return home with it. This caused its two owners to fall out as both assumed the other was the reason for the inexplicable decline in goldfish population. We just keep the lid on our tank, firmly.

Beloved, currently, is opposite of lithe Senor Pulpo; has sore and swollen knee, is hobbling a bit. Granny urges him to sit around and do nothing. 'I don't know how to do nothing,' he complains sadly. Pity she's not the same, she thinks: she knows exactly how to do nothing - and enjoy it. Another difference between them. It applies especially now when she is trying to restart her book and finding it hard - like re-animating a dead rhinocerous. Any excuse for idleness is better. Getting back into a book is always like that: writing in general is rarely pleasant except in retrospect. (Why do it then? Because not doing it is worse. Silly answer to silly question.)

Weather continues glorious. Sunny, not too much wind, not hot either, just nice. Seems churlish of Granny to long for rain. But she does. Grannyp