2008 — 13 October: Monday
I've just returned, by the light of a bright Hunter's Moon, and a smidgin before midnight, from an evening of "Serenity" and about half of "Fly boys". Tall Thomas tells me, by the way, that yesterday's picture of a bridge is of one over the Mosel. Thanks, Thomas; I think you could well be correct. As you say, it's on a plausible route back from Meisenheim, and the pictures on Wikipedia look very like the one Peter took. Sadly, Christa's no longer around to be asked...
Be that as it may, here's tonight's picture of her, from back in the late 1970s in Old Windsor:
Christa in the Old Windsor living room, late 1970s
The eyelids are threatening to slam together, so I shall call it a night. G'night, at 00:30 or so. Oops; better empty the washing machine first. Damn! Is there never any end to the endless domestic round??? Might as well make a cuppa while I'm down there. And check on the PVR. And edit the minidisc I left running. And shift the server out of the hallway before I trip over it. Why do we need sleep, anyway? Always struck me as rather pointless.
Right! Tasks done. DVD archiving left to run overnight. Cuppa consumed. It's now 01:34 and I guess that's it for now.
More tasks
It's 08:56 and the next crockpot payload has been doing its heaty thing for nearly 30 minutes already. How's that for a bright 'n' early start to a rather grey Monday morning? I've also been informed that the birdie yesterday is a "Heron Mk I". And I have a lunch date to prepare for, on the eve of my birthday. Need to fit in some more supplies shopping somewhere along the way, too.
When the guvmint has finished nationalising all the UK banks, may I ask why we need more than one "make" of bank? Everywhere I look, it seems that banks need to raise loads of money to pay off crippling debts. Borrowing money to pay a debt just doesn't seem the basis of a sound economy, somehow. (Perhaps all those years of daytime TV ads urging people to do exactly this have sunk too far into the collective psyche, if such a thing exists.) Many years ago, my friend Kate bought a little card for my desk. Its basic message was:
On with the carnival. Why do I find it (slightly) amusing that the chaplain to the London Stock Exchange was forced to issue an apology for his stupid suggestions about mandating (an appropriate word, surely?) warning tattoos on gay people? (Source.)
Much funnier is this piece from the late Miles Kington on "famous last words". (Source.) Ho hum. Time for a spot of breakfast.
"Harold, where's me shirt?"
I hope the lunch place doesn't insist on a tie. Can't be doing with ties at my age... It's 12:53 and I'm hungry.
And now, it's 16:38 and I am ever so slightly tiddley-om-pom-pom, well-fed, (courtesy of the Wheatsheaf in Braishfield) and probably unable to type a straight line. Still, if a chap can't celebrate on his (eve of) birthday in good company, when can he do so? Good job I was not the designated driver.
I've known, over the years, a number of people who used to prop themselves up with alcohol during the daytime. I am no nearer understanding them than I ever was... Despite the fine quality of today's wine, I'm predicting an aching head sometime fairly soon in my future. A small price to pay, though. Thanks, Gill and Chris, from the man in black.
Christa said she'd be very sad if there was no more smiling or laughter in my life going forward. I only wish she could have seen and heard me today. If she has access to this Interweb malarkey, of course... I must say, it's an odd sensation to find yourself stuck on a web page, as indeed it is to be mildly inebriated during daylight hours! There's not much trace of daylight any longer, of course. It's 20:29 and that Hunter's Moon is back on full beam.