2008 — 8 June: Sunday

Better let the Nikon Coolscan cool down, I guess.1 Need to pack a lunch for a walk later today — a somewhat late decision, but why the heck not? After all, if we wait for the BBC weather forecast to accord with reality, we could be here for a long while.

Christa and Peter, at Netley. March 1983

Look at those smiles! Though it's currently no longer possible to walk alongside this stretch of Southampton Water. And so to bed. It's 00:26 and I'm again drooping, despite Bob Harris. G'night.

Great Jupiter!

Holst, as interpreted by the Black Dyke (brass) Band, is playing as I gently ingest. The sun is shining, and the day promises to be "very warm", according to a gleeful Radio 3 news chap. We shall see. Meanwhile, there's a packed lunch to prepare for today's little hike. I've just learned we shall be circumnavigating the Shave Green Inclosure to the immediate north east of Minstead. It's 09:07 and I must dash.

Right, one chicken, lettuce and tomato sandwich (though I have my doubts about the lettuce, so I've livened it up with a little Branston pickle). Christa was always much more convinced of the merits of healthy green stuff than I was, and look where it got her! Nice green apple, couple of plums, a biscuit or two (or three), bottle of water. All set. Better get dressed, I suppose.

Hell fire (1)... dept.

"Gas bills will rise by 43 per cent in the next 12 months and electricity by 21 per cent, an average £360 per home, because of a sudden surge in market prices." (Source.) It goes cheerily on: "Wholesale gas prices have risen since the beginning of the year by 76 per cent." What means this? Well, apparently — if I'm "average" (whatever that means) — my annual bills will have to increase to £1,410. I'm currently paying £1,002 per year. Wonder where Christa kept the candles! Good job I switched off the gas fire's pilot light, too.

Hell fire (2)... dept.

Unbelievably, "Councils will be asked to store nuclear waste in deep underground vaults in return for government investment in jobs, road improvements and health screening." (Source.) Would these be the same councils who (in these parts) cannot even keep local roads free of deep pot-holes? Wait! Perhaps that's where they'll be tipping the stuff?

Back, for a swift pit-stop

Minstead has been skirted in a pleasant walk of just over six miles. I must (sniff) say (sniff) the pollen (sneeze) is out and about in considerable force at the moment. And it was a jolly sight warmer than the 21C being predicted by the BBC chaps. Anyway, it's 15:27 and I have an hour or so before I'm off out for nibbles. Time for a shower and change of integument covering. Mind you, if I had a gorgeous integument like this:

Shot of the Day, Minstead, 2008

I'd probably prefer to flaunt it! One shot out of a dozen or so, but worth every wasted pixel.

Good grief! The news that Gary Puckett and the Union Gap's "Young Girl" was at number #1 for four weeks forty years ago is rather depressing. And it beat "Jumping Jack Flash" — such taste, the record-buying public has.

One of my chums, for many years, kept a particular Salvador Dali print ("Swans reflecting elephants") on his wall. I'd never associated it with pot, however:

One of the walls was taken up with a Salvador Dali poster showing swans merged with elephants: perfect for those who needed a hallucinogenic fix before they got their prescription.

David Willis in " High times for medicinal marijuana" on the BBC web site


Panic attacks, heh? Should I approach my GP? I still remember receiving my "apprenticeship" prize in 1972 when I was pretending to be an aeronautical engineer. My fellow apprentices generally opted for toolboxes, which I thought frankly unimaginative. I chose a book on Dali, and had to buy it myself since the apprentice officer (whom I remember clearly was an idiot) had never even heard of this artist. (Or books, I suspect.)

Back, for the night

Some delightful nibbles, a spritzer or two, and two new friends to add to the list. It's now 21:36 and, I must say, driving south on the M3 a few minutes ago was a lot easier than driving north had been four hours earlier. The somewhat thuggish-looking young chap carefully parking his jalopy exactly opposite the entrance to my driveway just as I arrived home was an unexpected unbonus. Perhaps I should nip out later and empty his tyres. Didn't want to say anything at the time — his hands were full of drinks cans, at least one of which was started. Young people today, heh?

  

Footnote

1  Found some slides from March 1983 that I'd long forgotten. Junior was just three. It was shortly before Christa's first cancer diagnosis...