2008 — 22 July: Tuesday
Tonight's picture of Christa? One of the "happy family" shots soon after Peter was born. Her parents popped over to stay with us for a couple of weeks in the late summer of 1980. Grins all round (almost!):
Christa, her parents, and Peter, 1980
Babies do appear to have the most intense stares sometimes. That will do for now. (Save to note that it takes news of the acquisition of Big Bro's latest aviation magazine to get him to email me from Chile! He seems to be stuck there now until about 8 August — good job I'm the flexible sort.) Actually he's also waxing philosophical, pointing out that air travel has progressed (if that's le mot juste) from (as it were) left (the DC6B) to right (the Boeing 777-300) in my lifetime:
Looks to me like the engine cowling on the Boeing is about the same diameter as the fuselage on the little fella... Ho hum. Time to let the databases cool down a little. Fingers crossed for that HDFury from Mr Postie. G'night at 00:30.
Heat wave?
Well that's what my friend Carol is suffering in moderately upstate New York right now, "officially defined as five or more successive days over 90". Not nice. I shall commence the next round of crock-pottery in the next couple of minutes (it's 09:12 already) now that the crucial first cuppa has worked its magic. Come on, Mr Postie: make my day!
Crockpot left to do its simmery thing, second cuppa under construction. Here comes the 10 a.m. news — detention of Radovan Karadzic, in Belgrade, after more than ten years disguised by a large white beard. No comment. Plus, I like what Mike Figgis does, and has to say for himself:
Do you suffer for your art?
I do have pangs of worthlessness on a regular basis. When my art is going well, it's wonderful; when it's not, it's just a puff of smoke...
Jeff Nuttall, who founded the theatre troupe the People Show, once told me I needed a heavy dose of optimism. It taught me to beat depression by getting off
my ass and doing something.
Trust me, I know all about those sort of pangs! And Jeff Nuttall's advice exactly mirrors Christa's, too. The sun is shining. I've had a long note from Carol. It's going to be a good day.
Mr Postie failed me, but a quick phone call reassures me that the replacement HDFury is going out this afternoon. Now I need to grab me a spare DVI to DVI lead — should be one in here somewhere... Nope... Turns out I'd already cannibalised Christa's PC when I got the new KVM switch. Bother! Right, off goes the hunter, off to the wilds of Eastleigh. Better have a bite first, it's already (mysteriously) 13:14 and counting. And now I can't set off while the BBC is analysing Carl Orff's wonderful Carmina Burana, can I? We both loved this music, and I still do...
The Wheel of Fortune still raises the hairs on my arms. There's a lot of drinking involved; ironically, the Department of Health claims excessive drinking is costing the NHS £3,000,000,000 per year. And the Minister of Health (for health?) claims 26% of adults account for 76% of the total (hic!). Isn't this just further confirmation of the old 80/20 rule?
Statement of the bleedin' obvious... dept.
Reminded by some of the language while I was watching the recent TV programme about Johnny Speight's infamous creation:
The scientists, funded by the Medical Research Council and Wellcome Trust, have discovered that people with OCD and their close family members show under-activation of brain areas responsible for stopping habitual behaviour.
However, I was tickled to learn that "[cranberry] juice changes the thermodynamic properties of bacteria in the urinary tract, creating an energy barrier that prevents the microorganisms from getting close enough to latch onto cells and initiate an infection." (Source.)
Evening all... dept.
Desmond Carrington's usual cheery greeting. Supper1 has been made and eaten. The first wasp has been ejected from the kitchen. I got another DVI lead from the local Comet in readiness for what, I hope, will be tomorrow's delivery (phone and email are both optimistic). And now the evening looms ahead (it's 19:11). Tomorrow's walk route is settled; we're on a bit of a mushroom hunt for a change as we'll be accompanied by an expert fungi chap name of Graham. And his dog (maybe it's the mushroom equivalent of a truffle hound?) It was Graham who identified our chicken of the woods about seven weeks ago.