2008 — 18 January: Friday
It's now 00:18 and I shall quickly scour the dishes and retire. I've just finished watching Art School Confidential having been keen on Terry Zwigoff's film work since Crumb back in 1995 or thereabouts. And Daniel Clowes is quite a writer, too.
Big Bro has landed safely at Heathrow (delayed by two hours or so after that extraordinary affair with the Boeing 777) and will "touch base" (whatever that means) after he's chatted with his chairman. Plus Junior is due to darken my doorstep after the rush hour tomorrow this evening. Heady times, heh? Wonder what they'd both like to eat!
Just time for Friday's picture of Christa. As I was rummaging around in the loft a few hours ago (unsuccessfully) for a spare clothes rail, I saw hanging up there one of her favourite outdoor coats which had clearly been put away during last summer. This picture (showing her wearing it) was from our little outing to Durlston in Dorset last March, and it was jolly cold, wet, and windy! But we never minded that as long as we could see the sea.
Resuming in the morning
Well, it's now 09:49, raining, Mr Postie has been and gone, and that nice beardy Mr Branson owes me nearly £6 (though I gather I have to write to one of his minions to get my hands on this bounty). I'm listening idly to a long list of road accidents and hold-ups, none of which impinges on me (but each of which potentially blights a family somewhere). Yes, last night's film was a bit of a downer!
Roger cheered me up in the nick of time. It's now 11:40, brekkie has been snatched, so let me tell you how he elevated my dopamine levels... I was still jim-jammed and dressing-gowned when he appeared for one of our irregular chats and a cuppa. (They'd both been ill last time I popped in t'other direction, as it were.) In the course of our chat he remarked that "you're still a young man, you know" and asked whether I thought I might re-marry! Cue my guffaw, which is always a good thing in my opinion. Re-marry? It's an interesting thought, but I think I need to concentrate more on this probate lark, first. Besides, who the hell could/would put up with me? :-)
Dammit!... department
It's hard to keep dopamine levels high after talking to a solicitor. I'd arranged to get a certified copy of Christa's will at a local gang of the chaps, but now, it seems, they won't do it as they didn't draw up the original will. "Get the bank to do it," they suggest. "But the bank said you'd do it," I reply. <Sigh> "Well, we aren't willing to do it. You'll have to find a solicitor who will." And there I was, all fired up to nip up the road to get this done. They could have told me this when I called in last month. Should I name and shame them? Would they notice?! Ever onward.
We have a plan
The News Quiz is winding down, and the weekend's shape has settled down. Junior arrives here tonight, but will depart tomorrow afternoon. Big Bro aims to arrive here by about 16:00 tomorrow, stay overnight, and the two of us will whizz up to Wombourne and back on Sunday, dragging dear Mama (by force majeure if need be) out for a pub lunch. I doubt I'll get to do any of the driving, however, as Bro loves his "stick shift" and has invariably hired non-automatics on past visits. This will be his first visit since 13 October1 and I think it's actually this memory that is currently depressing me. John never saw Christa again. <Sigh>
But thank you, Lindsey, for your kindly "dinner party club" invitation. I know once I have got this weekend behind me (and I'm sorry, but I'm currently predicting a tear or two) I'm reasonably sure I will be a bit cheerier. Heck, I'd better be! It's Cathy's retirement dinner next week, and she deserves a big smile!
Oops!... department
aka "We've just sent out for a proof-reader!" Still, at least they got his name right. (And, yes, I realise what an enormous hostage to fortune it is to draw attention to a typo on this Interweb thingy. It was on one of my preferred browsing patches, however, and is very unusual for that site.)
Falling asleep here... department
It's not yet 22:00 but the eyelids are starting to droop. Junior is, I hope, now en route — I gather he wants to declutter his flat somewhat, which implies an increase in the entropy of his room here. Oh dear! Oh well, here's a thought or two to be going on with:
The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.
There are no classes in life for beginners; right away you are always asked to deal with what is most difficult.