First things first, though she has not been wholly good about pulling the bandage off, down, whatever, we have mostly kept Miss BF from harrassing her ulcer, which is healing nicely. The welcome return is the chair in my study, a really very nice 18th century tub chair of which I am fond. It used to be a quite good dark pink, not the colour I would have chosen, but a perfectly good colour, which I would have put up with indefinitely. Only when the arms started to wear through it became fatally attractive to cats and as a result, gradually became frankly horrible. Years ago, I bought some fabric for redoing it, ochre twill cotton, and that is where matters rested, after a couple of unreal quotes, till an upholsterer started up in Banff last autumn. She took the chair, and then of course quite a lot of other things happened — to her, it transpired, as well as to us. This was all set in motion before the Professor’s helicopter ride or anything, and finally, having just about forgotten about it entirely, the chair has reappeared this evening. Its new integument is a slightly darker and stronger shade of the ochre of the walls, and with the dark pink petit-point cushion someone made us as a wedding present sat inside it, it looks as if it’s always been there. I’m so pleased to have it back.