2008 — 16 January: Wednesday
It's now 01:14 and here's the next placeholder before I ram into the unconsciousness buffers. The rain seems to have stopped. I have lunch dates at the Bush in Ovington later today (well, it would hardly be earlier, would it?) and at the Bell in St. Cross tomorrow. Then Junior is due to show up on Friday, followed almost immediately by Big Bro on (I presume) Saturday. I'm therefore predicting a brief sortie up to dear Mama (probably on Sunday).
I haven't even cracked open the plastic bag with my Computer Shopper magazine in it yet. I also (briefly) became a kerb crawler a few hours ago. I misjudged the left turn out of the car park at the Central Precinct and mounted the kerb, dammit. Never done that before. And still not quite sure how it happened. I suspect it's an instant "fail" on the driving test... <Sigh> Still, there was nobody around to hoot at me. Let's see what the rest of the day brings, shall we?
Now 01:42 but I couldn't go to bed without doing the dishes, could I? It's horrible being confronted with them in the morning, certainly!
What? Me, worry?... department
It's 10:19 and, to the background of a nice violin concerto by Bach (with one N Kennedy) I can ponder whether I should be worried by the fact that Mrs Building Society (in her earlier phone call) was not worried at all at the thought that my new passbook is "out there, somewhere, lost in the system" because, she assures me, anyone trying to use it will be foiled by the ID checks (and balances?) by their counter staff. Yet the (cancelled) passbook that was solely in Christa's name clearly states "In order to reduce the risk of fraud, please bring your passbook into the branch rather than posting it." Perhaps I should empty the account before someone else in Chandler's Fraud tries to? Yet again, I can clearly hear Christa saying "Good God!" and with a fiery1 twinkle in her eyes, too.
I shall give them a week, I think. Meanwhile, following the kerb crawling incident, should I be showing you this, I wonder?
Post-prandial... department
The Bush in Ovington has been successfully arrived at, eaten in, and departed from, and it's now 15:04 — the afternoon, as it were, is my oyster. My date was kind enough to say that I'd been helpful in what I said (which was advice also proffered by Cathy, let me add) and he paid for the lunch (which is always a good sign!). I've decided that proffering advice is yet another sign (I typed "sin" originally, and considered leaving it unaltered) of old age. Let's see if Big Bro does it to me, shall we?
In the words of Baloo the Bear...
Despite having treated myself to a potential feast in Asda when I got back from Hedge End (to which I'd driven purely to cheer myself up by taking some of Christa's recommended treatment, as relayed to me by Val, of motoring therapy) I'm putting it in the freezer and taking my sorry self over to Winchester, accepting a kindly invitation of company, a meal, and my choice of viewing pleasure — thank you, Mike!
And what did Baloo say? I'm gone, man... solid gone! Signing (or is that "sinning"?) off for now.