Frisky wind all day has died. Grannyp not so frisky by inclination, only necessity - it's been that sort of day - not quite dying thanks to an injection of malt whisky.

Morning: she went with Beloved to buy bookcase (at last.) Rest of morning spent sorting out ads (Craters and Rockpools..) for next year's poetry workshop to be run by Granny's dear poet friend, while Beloved and Handsome chopped other bookcases in half. Most of the afternoon she lugged books to now established bookcases- miraculously they all fitted in - for now.....Strange nostalgias caused by emergence of long-lost beloveds. Tatty Penguin edition of Anna Karenina eg, once carted round India, cannot possibly be thrown away. A mysterious large tome bound in blue turned out to be phD. thesis of dead twin - granny sat down on bunk beds acquired for her granddaughters and read hunk of it; feeling impressed -it's very authoritative - and sad, both. (Reading is inevitable part of sorting and putting away books. Granny thinks. Beloved doesn't; fortunately he was asleep at this stage..)

So many good old literary friends reappeared; but not all. How can books just disappear?? Lent? Lost? The rest are now all exiled here too like granny; - exile is condition she reflects on constantly but hasn't time to write about now. Beloved is cooking. (Again.) She has to scrape the flesh off yet more orange peel. Feline Houdini is daintily crunching up his cat chow, Tiresome Terrier creating outside. Beautiful Wimp shut out from kitchen while Feline Houdini eats, complains at gate between kitchen and dining-room, but not seriously. He may take the chance to take off and sit on the sofa next door (forbidden; it's white, foolishly.) Granny will shortly have to inspect.

Wind has swung round from north to south in the course of the day before disappearing- strange to see wispy cloud meaning storms in Atlantic which aren't going to come our way. Such signs in Granny's northerly island always mean trouble, not so here; though they can.

Northerly island. Sigh. On the other hand a whisky sitting in a hot tub in November watching the moon rise has its charms. Yesterday in London it rained eight hours without stopping. We could do with some more rain here, but not like that. Grannyp