2008 — 30 September: Tuesday
And yet another month gets ready to bite the dust. Where does it all go, this strange Time stuff? Tonight's picture shows Christa, the happy soon-to-be-a-mother, again back in 1980 in the Old Windsor house. (She made all her maternity clothes, by the way.) How can this possibly be 28 years ago? It's very strange. I said it at her funeral, because that's what I felt then — but I still feel it's every bit as strange today.
Christa in the bathroom, Old Windsor, 1980
G'night, at 00:01 or thereabouts. And, yes, I didn't forget to take the last antibiotic of the day... Later today I'm off on a mushroom hunt in the New Forest. We retirees like to live dangerously!
Wholly ineffectual... dept.
Dubya may be the most powerful man in the West, but the BBC news at 08:00 has just described him as "wholly ineffectual" in the present financial crisis. Call me a cynic if you like, but I'm not surprised that those US politicians facing re-election in November are those politicians who have "overwhelmingly" voted against the first "rescue the Wall Street fat cats" package deal.
Still, you know all is well with the world when a straw poll of Tory party activists and MPs declares Attila the Hen to have been a greater hero than Winston Churchill.
[Tory MP John] Whittingdale recalled the "surreal" moment when he had to show her a video of Monty Python's dead parrot sketch and try to explain why it was funny, ahead of
it being mentioned in a party conference speech.
He recalled that she was still puzzled by the reference as she was about to go on stage, turning to Mr Whittingdale and saying: "Monty Python — are you sure he is one of us?"
Christa, my love, you're well out of all this.
English mahogany... dept.
"Well, I never." Did you know that oak stained by leakage from the Beefsteak mushroom was termed English mahogany? No, nor did I. An eight-mile hike in some only slightly swampy New Forest can be quite informative. It's becoming autumnal too, of course. Good exercise though. And about six species identified, including the deathcap, the hedgehog, the oyster, chicken of the woods, hen of the woods, and a little chap whose name escapes me but who favours rotting tree trunks. It's only 16:40 but showing some distinctive signs of evening, with full cloud cover. I'm quite tired, too. But a nice hot cuppa will work its usual magic.
Mindless... dept.
Seeing today's picture of my happy Christa I recall that shortly after Peter was born I discovered I have a bit of a problem with some of the pseudoscience that is psychiatry. Our ill-informed family "old school" GP insisted an over-tired and temporarily stressed-out Christa consult a psychiatrist before he would deal with her any more because of her steadfast refusal to take the "happy pills" he was far too keen to prescribe.1 Anyway, there's an interesting piece here. Snippet:
In 1916, Dr. Henry Cotton of Trenton State Hospital, believing that germs from tooth decay led to insanity, removed patient's teeth and other body parts, such as the bowels, which he thought might be the causes of their madness. He killed almost half the patients who received his "thorough" treatment, more than 100 people. Cotton's practices were covered up by the hospital board and the leading figure in American psychiatry of the day, Adolf Meyer, and Cotton was allowed to continue practicing at the hospital for nearly 20 more years. In a eulogy for Cotton in 1933, Meyer lauded his "extraordinary record of achievement."
It's 18:57 and, since man cannot live by crockpot alone (plus the bacon's "best-by" date was yesterday) I made myself a cooked "breakfast" to placate the inner man. I must say, Christa, the new non-stick frying pan is a treat to clean afterwards. Tonight's choice was sunflower oil (I've been experimenting, though I admit I picked this up by mistake, having thought I was getting a blend of sunflower and olive oil). Works fine. The fresh orange does for "pud", too. I think I shall do a spot of TV vegetating later this evening. I suppose I could clean out the car a bit, too, with the mini-Dyson before I take it in for its first service. Amazing how it fills up with bits and pieces.
It's really hard to believe that I've been driving for very nearly a year, my love, and without you. I still find myself muttering "Unbelievable" from time to time, I admit. Ho hum. (My cousin-in-law — if that relationship exists — tells me her brother basically took three years to put himself back together after the death of his wife; my aunt in Rushden reckons 'Year 3' was the hardest. It seems I may still have a bit of a hill to climb.)
Good God! The news has just told me that all couples getting married should be offered (pre-emptive?!) relationship counselling.