2008 — 7 August: Thursday
Tonight's picture obviously pre-dates global climate change. I suspect it was 1986 or 1987; one of the rare winters in which we actually had some snow. Peter needed no encouragement to go out and play in the nasty, cold, stuff, of course.
Christa and me with Peter's snowmen
G'night at 00:01 or so. And greetings, Ute!
Long term planning... dept.
Amazing, what ends up on the web. By using a Freedom of Information request, Mother Jones magazine got its hands on a 2002 Pentagon monograph1 "Military Advantage in History" that examined four great empires for tips on how to rule the world. To give you a tiny taste of the High School level of information in it, we're told that the term "parting shot" comes from "Parthian shot" from a group of Indo-Iranian nomads who could fire at the pursuing forces while in full retreat. (And that the feigned retreat and firing in full gallop are characteristic of many steppe nomad tribes.)
It's interesting to read all the comments submitted about the monograph, too.
Right! That's my breakfast reading over. What's next? It's 10:25 and seems to be brightening up a bit.
Catching up on comedy... dept.
As I see I admitted here, my chief delight in Life (with, and now regrettably, without Christa) has always been laughter in whatever shape or form it takes. She was very similarly inclined; trust me! Anyway, I mentioned a monograph on "Groundhog Day" last week. Having read it, I learned that newer editions of the DVD now contain a documentary. So, rationing myself to a budget of £10 max (since I already owned a copy of the original DVD [and, indeed, had previously owned the film on LaserDisc, too]) here's what I managed to find in the Shed City "Tesco" bargain bin last Thursday:
And I got £1 in change, too. As dear ol' Dad often said, "Everything comes to he who waits." The compilation of "Not the 9 o'clock news" sketches was just so much extra gravy on the cake... Gerald the gorilla, Cut off their goolies, Kinda Lingers... magic stuff that made us both weep with laughter.
Normalcy is as normalcy does... dept.
Mr Postie having popped "Harps and Angels" through the letterbox, I checked the BBC's weather forecast, saw they were saying it was going to rain, checked the cloudless blue sky, tapped Christa's German barometer (on the way down), and saddled up the horseless carriage.
My regular reader knows by now that I tend to toddle down into Southampton at least once a week, thereby keeping up the habit, formed over more than 20 years, of going there on a Friday afternoon when "let out" of the IBM Lab. It gives me an illusion of normal life, and even in some strange way an illusion of company. Christa and I almost invariably went our separate ways2 when we hit the shops, so I'm used to browsing around alone — while "knowing" she would be at the agreed rendezvous to convey us back home. I'm recently (17:37) back from just such a trip, and have been relaxing with a cuppa and a biccie (or two), while listening to Jane Asher's attempts to become an orchestral conductor / director.
After dark
It's now 22:21 and, ridiculously good though the music on BBC Radio 2 is on a Thursday evening, I shall now rest the ears and start taxing the eyes, methinks. I have no shortage of material to watch, after all. Besides, the kettle is downstairs, too, and I have a hot date with a final cuppa. What an exciting life we retired widowers lead at times!
By the way, Bro, I checked today but your September dose of aviation techno porn hasn't hit the news stand yet. And Ute, yes, I'd heard of the dyslexic devil worshipper who sold his soul to Santa. Now, had you heard of the dyslexic atheist who was convinced there wasn't a dog?