2008 — 7 April: Monday, still cold?
It's 01:11 and was snowing when I set off on my return from Winchester a few minutes (and a cuppa) ago. However, it was clear and cold by the time I put the car into its nest. I've ruled out Smallville as a televisual entertainment option, but have now seen Episode #1 of Series #1 of Torchwood and found it quite intriguing. "Contraceptives in the rain? You've got to love this planet!"
Later today (now) is another brief evening of audio/visual experimentation with a certain hacked Xbox and upscaled video therefrom. Should be interesting. I note, however, I managed to miss a new BBC radio adaptation of Powell's A dance to the music of Time so I really will have to sort out a sound card on one or other of these PCs and fire up the iPlayer.
Still, that will do for the time being. Iris, if you're reading, and if the weather's OK, I'd be delighted to enjoy a short walk with you on Friday...
Barely conscious
The sun is shining its head off at 10:10 — I wonder how long that's been going on. The morning cuppa is being nursed. Life always seems better after a few hours of sleep — but as I was still awake to hear the news at 03:00 this morning, alas, the batteries do not feel quite fully recharged (and whose fault do you suppose that is, David?) I can set about livening things up, however, with a delicious Kinsey quote unearthed by the lady, Mary Roach, who wrote an entertaining book called "Stiff" (unrelated, as it happens, to anything by Dr Kinsey!). Her new book is called "Bonk":
In writing about sexuality, a universally loaded subject if there ever was one, the tendency is often either to arouse or entertain. Roach pounces upon the latter, relishing in turns of phrase guaranteed to make readers cross their legs and other writers seethe with jealousy that they didn't think of it. "For ten-plus centuries, the womb was considered less an organ than an independent creature, able to move about the woman's body like a badger in its den."... You can almost imagine the author sitting in a library surrounded by stacks of research, fighting the impulse to scream and punch the air upon discovering her favorite quote of all time from Kinsey: "Cheese crumbs spread in front of a copulating pair of rats may distract the female, but not the male."
There's more, but a) this is a family web site and b) I need some breakfast first! Come back to earth, therefore, by skimming yet another list of (for some reason) 110 "best books" from yesterday's Telegraph Seven magazine. The perfect library indeed.1 Still, some look vaguely familiar!
Impolitic(al) language
That abolition of the 10p lowest tax rate; think "stick" and "hornets' nest" and "stir" ahead of the local elections. The original decision was made by that Prudence chappie a year or so ago, I believe. Anyway, John Hutton, the business secretary, said on BBC TV's Andrew Marr Show: "We are talking in the worst case scenario about half a per cent of net income being the scale of the maximum loss that someone might have." It may only be half a per cent to you, sunshine... but didn't you realise that the people most affected by this abolition are (by definition) the lowest income group (in which group, as an IBM early retirement pensioner, I proudly claim membership, of course). (Source.)
I was not a great fan of the late Mr Heston's opinions on guns, slightly preferring his films. But (as Peter Preston points out here) "If a man can move from Moses to the head of the gun lobby, God must have a terrific sense of humour". Neat.
Well said, that man!
Further (or merely continuing) sub prime mortgage lending fallout: The idea that we can escape the impact of what is happening in America is just wishful thinking. There was some optimism in financial markets last week that the worst of the credit crunch might be over. These are the same markets that failed to predict the credit crunch and are the root cause of this misery, so their opinion, frankly, is not worth much. (Source.)
There's a reason it's called "the dismal science". Throughout our years together, Christa and I were invariably struck by the fact that when we wanted to buy something it generally seemed to cost about as much as we could afford, and when we wanted to sell something it was generally deemed of no value to anyone else. We didn't appear to have a single Market Trading gene between us, in other words.2
Well said, that woman!
Laurie Anderson, talking of her new show "Homeland" (from which "a conspicuous and well-heeled contingent made a dash for the exits"): it is inspired by the fact that there is very little information in America: I am very aware that the media has totally failed us. The journalists have become entertainers, so I thought we should take the next step and ask, 'Why don't entertainers become journalists?'" (Source.)
Logical, Mr Spock. But now it's time (11:14) to get out there and shop, shop, shop. Before the rain goes drop, drop, drop.
42?
Life takes on a whole new perspective in the Mounce kitchen. The remaining carrots were happily sprouting green shoots of recovery in their little plastic bag, and one of the two melons was busily turning itself into an alcohol fermentation tank just because I've been neglecting it. I'm here now (12:45) on a brief pit stop after Eastleigh but before the shelves of Waitrose. It's at times like this that I reflect that on some days I miss Christa a lot, and on other days I miss her more than anything else in the universe. So far, there haven't been any "some" days of course, but I live in continuing hope.
Here's a picture (that needed considerable adjustment I fear) of my best girl doing what she could to rescue the roses we inherited in the front garden of our (then) new house in Old Windsor. Again, I'd date this to 1976 or 1977:
Off I go again. Thanks for the car, my love.
In later news... dept.
It's now 16:57 and the initial evening meal prep is done. That's to say, the pack of liver and bacon is ready for Mr Microwave, the spuds (which were sprouting away like good 'uns) have been peeled and sliced, the carrots have been shorn of their green shoots and similarly sliced and diced. (I have some frozen peas in reserve, too, in case of culinary calamity.) The running order is (I gather) start boiling the spuds; when they're about two-thirds done, sling in the carrots, and simultaneously start zapping up the meaty part. Then aggregate onto a plate and eat. (Delia, eat your heart out!)
After that it will (or certainly should) be time for tonight's little adventure, for which the car is still out3 on the drive. Tomorrow, weather permitting, we're planning a little walk, so I shall have to be up in time to re-stuff the crockpot with the next slow-cooking load, and (probably) make a packed lunch for mid-walk consumption, too. Mustn't forget to put out the green bin, either. In any spare crevices of Time, I'd also quite like to set about re-installing XP on one of my PCs as part of the next longer-term computing game plan.
On with the show!