2008 — 24 October: Friday
How can it nearly be time to reset the clocks? Amazing! Tonight's picture takes us back to 1976, and our young visitor Claudia again:
G'night.
Windows has broken...
... at least, until all these security fixes have finished installing. Still, at least I got my little crate of "empties" out in time for the monthly morning collection. No attempt to sort by colour which begs the question of why they still have different bins at the recycling points. The marmite jar matched the Remy Martin, he added coyly, though not in age.
One woman's vulva...
... is, according to the BBC, another woman's "down below". (Source.) Shades of "Down There Press" in San Francisco! It's a good job I was between mouthfuls, as it were, when I followed that particular link. In similarly shocking news, it seems Alan Greenspan has now (almost) admitted he was wrong... for 18 years... "I made a mistake in presuming that the self-interests of organisations, specifically banks and others, were such that they were best capable of protecting their own shareholders and their equity in the firms". Now there's a surprise. (Source.)
My next job opportunity?
I've written quite a wide variety of things over the years, but never (yet) term papers for the educationally-challenged. Nick Mamatas has written many, and describes the process and the pitfalls here. Incredible.
Mrs Hubbard's cupboard...
... or, more accurately, fridge, is now (12:39) slightly less bare. And two fresh well-fired loaves are chilling out in the freezer, too. There was also an unwished-for diversion into my bank to set in (slow) motion ("it takes at least a week, sir, and would probably be quicker if you phone them" [strange logic]) the supply of a new plastic card with which to raid my equally bare current account — this is the first time I've known a card to start to split physically. I thought they were made of sterner stuff. Actually I wish I was, too. Oh well. Time for a nice, healthy salad, and then later on it will be more than time for an afternoon adventure out in the tea line somewhere. I shall be treated to a satnav with Ozzy Osbourne's voice loaded, though the most common phrase uttered is (I'm warned) "Sharon, we're f***ing lost!"
Suddenly it's 19:05. Afternoon tea was taken, and the evening meal now awaits only the ritual of the washing up and the putting away. It feels as if it's going to be quite cold tonight.