2008 — 7 July: Monday
It's the midnight hour, and time for tonight's picture. I took it 34 years ago (!) somewhere in the grounds of ICL Beaumont, on one of our delightful morning strolls before work:
Christa in the grounds of Beaumont, June 1974
G'night at 00:01.
Sitrep, please!
It's 10:22, there's a smidgen of sun but an awful lot of rain clouds. The barometer has dipped a little. The crockpot is stuffed and will soon be simmering, though I just discovered I forgot to add the parsnip this time. And I had to substitute a nice sour Granny Smith for the intended Bramley ("which, in your case, you 'ave not got") so it will be a voyage of culinary discovery. I'm also about to scan a clue as to the whereabouts of yesterday's large pot:
The car (good old DYP676C, a Wolseley 6/110) was one of three Dad (a creature of habit, at times) had in a sequence before branching out a little into a Daimler V8 followed by a Jaguar 420. This Wolseley was a three litre saloon and a mere 110bhp (our BMW Mini Cooper S would have left it in the dust). Still, it was a comfortable ride for such a long trip to and from Turin.
In rattier news
I hadn't realised that young1 Dr Bad Science actually has a web site. Thank you, Ophelia Benson. There's (I'm glad to see) another chap also seeking to shine a little light into darker corners — in this instance, upon a speech given by Dubya:
May it be to the world, what I believe it will be, (to some parts sooner, to others later, but finally to all,) the signal of arousing men to burst the chains under which monkish ignorance and superstition had persuaded them to bind themselves, and to assume the blessings and security of self-government.
I've highlighted the Jeffersonian phrase that got left out. Meanwhile, wrap your cortex around this little gem. Dammit, I spent my formative years in that fine county! Further north, things are even more weird!
Never mind; IBM has dribbled its pension pittance in my direction and the sun shines again. A bit. Soon be time for lunch, too.
My type?
I mentioned I fell in love on that Italian holiday in 1965. Meet Marie-Consuelo:
I believe she became a doctor working in Holland for the UN. The road not taken, heh?
Cognitive dissonance... dept.
Did you know Rule #42 is the oldest one in the book? And this is as I listen to Round Britain Quiz while reading a piece about the "dumbest generation" in the LA Times and scanning a few more elderly slides, all while digesting my chicken salad lunch. (BBC Radio 4's lunchtime news, though, was depressing as hell. As usual, it seems.)
Now "wastrel" is not a word I see every day... Well, not attached to Jimmy Carter. Such robust comments one can find on this Interweb thingy. Not that anyone ever reads to the end of an article, let alone a whole book. Perhaps dear Mama was right after all?!
TANSTAAFL... dept.
UK wastes food -- they should see me!
More wasted food for thought here, of course. I certainly can vouch for what the Lib Dem chap says at the end. I cannot, however, vouch for yesterday's information about Clapton concertgoers. It was, in fact, a Meatloaf performance. I was misinformed (and by an IBM manageress, too — Gosh!). Oh well. Time to unleash the crockpot and get crocking. It's already 18:11 and only a little has got done today, somehow.
I'm quite tempted to try the late film on BBC1 tonight. In its favour is the fact that it's directed by the chap who made Leon the pig farmer. Not in its favour is the terminal cancer plotline. Decisions, decisions.