2008 — 7 May: Wednesday
Suddenly it's 00:37 and time, I think, to turn in. Dishes done; nice pink grapefruit consumed, the last three Lidl plums1 discarded, not for the first time. But here are three thumbnail pictures from West Meon yesterday. Click any of them to see the larger versions. (Sorry, Lis, I was too tired last night to do the reduced bandwidth versions.)
It's positively summery out there...
... But we met very few fellow walkers.
Before you know it...
... it's nearly 10:00 and I haven't even fired up the kettle yet. Situation now rectified. And breakfast input, too. Good morning, world! Now, at 10:46, I can consider the next tasks. One is accomplished; I've just arranged a minor-league little adventure out this afternoon for an (ice-cream) tea somewhere with my main co-pilot. He's back from an exhausting trip to the mucky Midlands yesterday that took much longer than is strictly nice in this heat. I've decided to start the next crockpot tomorrow, on the working assumption that it will be cold and wet by the time consumption starts!
So, on with some software battles, methinks. Gripping the bits firmly between the teeth.
Take aim, gentlemen...
While learning that the pattern of lines painted on the A1 back in the early 1970s to trick motorists into slowing down has (rather belatedly, in my opinion) been adopted in a Chicago suburb, I also gained fresh insight into what goes on in Schiphol airport:
Or consider this stroke of creativity by an economist in Amsterdam charged with cleaning up the restrooms at the Schiphol2 Airport: He had a fly etched into the wells of urinals, giving male patrons something to aim at. Spillage was reduced by 80 percent.
I'm reminded of the slogan We aim to please... you aim too, please! But how on earth does one measure the reduction in spillage in what would in
any sense be a controlled way?
Foreskin durch Technik, perhaps?
I don't know whether to be elated or depressed after reading about the Great Filter described by Nick Bostrom. But it's an interesting idea, new to me, and there are some cracking comments flowing in, too.
Slippery stuff, this Time fella
If all goes according to plan, I shall shortly dine to the accompaniment of the BBC's one o'clock news. Bet it's not as appetising as the Waitrose "deliciously different" experiment that's currently getting its molecules all in a thermal tizzy in the microwave. Chicken and prawn jambalaya with brown rice, chargrilled peppers and sweet potato. Verdict will be delivered in due course, of course. It constitutes one of my recommended daily veggie portions. I hate veggies!
A whole planet's worth of news to pick from and what do we get? Lead item: Reclassification of a drug3 that Queen Victoria was said to use. Next: The typhoon devastation in Burma and the need for the "secretive" government to "let in" Western aid. And further bleatings from the frankly tiresome American election trail. Jambalaya certainly impinges on the tastebuds. Whether it tickles them is another matter. But, as I used to say to Christa, you've taken the trouble to cook it — I'll eat it. The same goes for my own culinary efforts. Even when they require a lump of chocolate afterwards to erase the taste! Next task is to load the washing machine, then hit the High Road with a clear conscience. (I'm getting my water cut off tomorrow for some unspecified period, and am erring on the cautious side.)
What flavour?!
Back at 17:02 in neat time for some delicious live Chopin to counterbalance the extraordinary "bubblegum" flavour of the turquoise-coloured ice-cream cone at Carlo's ice cream, guineapig and rabbit emporium. (Junction of Whinwhistle Road and Romsey Road, East Wellow. Can't miss it. Right under a stonking great electricity pylon.) We retired folk then retired to the late Sir Harold Hillier's tea-rooms to dilute the effects of our stomach contents and shoot the breeze about the rotten state of Life, the Universe, and the UK education and parenting systems. The uninformed (and, certainly, the uniformed) might conceivably conclude we're grumpy old men...
Countering the grumps
Almost exactly nine months ago, Christa was nurturing the pear tree she'd successfully transplanted a year earlier from the foot of the garden (it was displaced by her second garden shed). We were both pleased that it survived the uprooting. In fact, it looks like it will be yielding another fine crop later this year too — well done, my love!
Time to placate that inner man, again. It's nearly 19:00 already.