2008 — 22 April: Tuesday
It's a mere 00:22 but the shades are coming down, as it were. I'll be walking in the New Forest later, weather permitting. Need some sleep first, and have to prep a packed lunch too. So g'night.
O tempora, O mores... dept.
Cicero would probably have warned me that too much web browsing is bad for the equanimity...
I think this implies that panicky Canadians may at this time in the "morning after" be too flustered to handle calculations involving periods of up to 72 hours. If so, let's hope their web access doesn't let them down. And that the web server time and date are accurate. Speaking of which, it's 08:56 and time to kick off the aforementioned packed lunch, let alone the brekkie fuel for a walk in what looks currently like very pleasant morning sunshine.
All was not sweetness... dept.
Life sometimes seems to consist of the endless shattering of illusions. Remember the 1960s? (I do, so I probably wasn't there.)
DeGroot debunks this decade with bravura, relishing the ironies, as when he points out that "the political songs of the Sixties may be widely remembered, but they were seldom among the 'greatest hits.'" As evidence, he points out that the best-selling song of 1969 was "Sugar, Sugar,"1 by the Archies, a band that "did not actually exist," being a group of studio musicians pulled together by a record company. (The lead singer in the band, Ron Dante, made his fortune with recordings like "You Deserve a Break Today," which he made for McDonald's.)
Come on, Mike, I need some fresh air!
The real thing?
Remember my avian stealth bomber? Big Bro has just countered with this shot:
He's also set me the puzzle of naming the flotsam2 he captured in mid-January 2004. I guess you can tell we're brothers!
Suggestions very welcome. If I'm not mistaken, there's a rather skeletal dog (a terrier?) carrying a load of bones for munching or burial.
He's been telling me for many years how green and lush his adopted land is. Looks to me more like the blighted radioactive wastelands described by John Wyndham in The Chrysalids. Bro's a born politician, obviously.
Home again
It's now 16:25 and I'm back from a positively summery 5 mile ramble through a bit of the Forest that none of us had previously walked. Starting from Acres Down House (Mrs Sat Nav was not entirely confident of the precise location) then down and round Holm Hill. Plus a tiny spot of PC and A/V "consultancy" in exchange for excellent coffee and a digestive or three. Thanks, Bob.
Home again — again
It's now 22:23 and I'm back from a positively summery tuna and salad meal and Australian photography display3 over at Cathy's (to the musical accompaniment of the iPod playlist I constructed for Lindsay). Not too late for a brief phone call to a worried A/V newbie, however. I tell you, it was easier when I was a working chap.
Now (22:40) Junior has just rung (from a bus going gawd knows where) to report health and happiness, and to check up on his Dad, of course. Excellent, even though he failed in his attempt to pick up the "Posy Simmonds" edition of the Comics Journal last Saturday. A day that began shakily has by the end turned out very well, I'm happy to report. I'd like a few more of the same, please.
It's catching on... dept.
Just been sent an image captured in Brittany last week by recent retiree John S, who asks me whether I see anything familiar in this rocky structure.
Sure do, John... try here. Though quite what an elephant is doing muscling in on an Easter Island "head" is a bit of a puzzler.