2008 — 1 August: Friday, and rabbits!
Tonight's picture of Christa shows her unusual approach to bed-making. Visible behind her head, by the way, is the first Sony radio-recorder I bought, back in 1971. It later ended up in the possession of the first Leo computers programming instructor, but that's another story:
Christa's unorthodox approach to bed-making
G'night at 00:02 or so, just as some heavy rain seems to be starting.
The crates of wrath... dept.
As I opened the skylight in the study a few minutes ago, I noticed that one or two of my neighbours had been staggering out with their black plastic crates of accumulated glass bottles for collection. I think this is a monthly (Friday) collection, so I thought I'd join in, though I have to confess my own little accumulation barely covers the bottom of the crate. Still, I also trimmed some of the wilder stems from the ever-growing vine and shepherded a sleepy butterfly away from danger on the back doorstep. That's got to be about as domestic as I've ever been since Christa's death.
I didn't sleep very well, and the one dream I can vaguely recall was extremely confused featuring as it did Robert McNamara putting on a special show for us (quite who the "us" consisted of was unclear) and some blend of "Pride and Prejudice". As the Shadow's voice-over (almost) used to remark "Who can fathom what lurks in men's minds?" Let's see if the 08:00 news brings greater clarity...
British Energy's proposed sell-off of twelve nuclear power plants to a French firm has failed, leaving the guvmint's policy "in tatters". BA 1Q profits are down 88%, with fuel costs doubled. Jersey child abuse allegations rumble on. Imports should take into account their carbon footprint. What of practical value would be done with the improved accounting remains totally mysterious as usual. And the clearly visible clouds suggest the "heavy rain" is very likely. What a world, heh? Perhaps I should resume listening to NPR.
I can hardly wait... dept.
I still find, on average, that BBC Radio 3 soothes. But when they tout stuff like this, I have to wonder. (It all rather reminds me of the "Global [ideas] Jams" within IBM, which I find I don't miss at all. Maybe it's because I suspect group intelligence varies inversely with the number of members in the group.) But then, we are (deeply) into the silly season. Consider the poor semicolon:
If you really want to hurt your parents, and you don't have the nerve to be a homosexual, the least you can do is go into the arts. But do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites, standing for absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college.
I don't recall many semicolons in college, personally. Meanwhile, I've just re-read this interesting set of thoughts on marriage. I'm sure every marriage is both mysterious, and different from every other. But marriage scholars? Wow! And a rather harrowing book review here puts me in need of another cuppa. Then it will be time to hit the supplies trail, rain or no rain. It's 10:00.
For reasons I don't fully understand, Sainsbury's in Eastleigh failed to supply me with my next crockpottery experiment, though at least I got the last two well-fired loaves. So, having grabbed a bite (it's 13:02) I'm now going to rely on Waitrose then hit the road to go see my chum Ian, as last attempted back in December. I will be making a House call, in fact!
I'm home, Christa!
Got back at just after 21:15 with another 70 or so miles on the "clock" — very near the 8,500 miles total now, in nine and a half months of driving. There are still days when this all strikes me as faintly unreal, but I can't kid myself for long. It's all too real, of course. Anyway, I enjoyed a long chat with my one-time ICL office-mate and left him (in case anyone's curious) with three seasons of House which will keep him going (he reckons) until Christmas. His house is no tidier (or less cluttered) than mine, which is reassuring. Meanwhile the British Army brass band on BBC Radio 2 is attempting a tune first popularised by the outfit Sky — I still prefer the original.