We are now condemned to getting pills down Miss Kit for about the next week. She seems to be a bit better, though she still has a troubling cough. Thus far, I have sustained light flesh wounds on almost all occasions other than those involving my brother’s girlfriend, who is a wizard with cats — the trouble with curing a sore throat with pills is having to fire the pills into the aforementioned sore throat, which can be wearing. The Real World Consultant, as you will gather, was up here: his other half had a job interview for something which, if there is any justice in the world she will get, given that she was clued up, properly prepared, and looked fantastic. She may not, since as we all know, there is no justice in the world, but she bloody well should. Meanwhile, our little Jacobite exhibition opened tonight, along with a simultaneous exhibition on the Act of Union. It was terrific: there were lots and lots of people, since it coincided with a conference on the Union, but despite some traditionally explosive combinations of individuals, no conversation reached combustion point, for once, the museum and archive people were included, and all in all, the whole thing felt like happier days. Except that the Deputy Supremo there present, despite a good deal of teasing, refused point blank to let us put an eight-foot-by-six neoclassical picture of Ganymede in the university board room. All argument that it was extremely historical and told us very important things about the history of Aberdeenshire (etc) fell on stony ground. I don’t see what’s wrong with a bit of camp myself, but these chaps in suits do tend to take things awfully seriously.