2008 — 12 December: Friday
I thought, for tonight, I'd show another photo of the Becker "clan" back in September 1974, just before Christa and I got married. And if future brother-in-law Georg (on the extreme left) looks pleased with himself, it's because he's just dashed back successfully into the shot ahead of his camera's timer mechanism:
My future family, Meisenheim, September 1974
I would have downloaded the free reading of John Buchan's "39 steps" but I don't want a proprietary player on my system, nor an MP3 file contaminated with DRM. Still, if the link is of interest, here it is. G'night, at 00:05 or so. Next big adventure? Shopping and tidying up ahead of Junior's flying visit, I guess.
I forgot to say, it was a nice "catch-up" in the Clubhouse yesterday lunchtime. Additionally, Ian B in NZ: I shall try. Dave M in Totnes: that was a nice thing to say! Thanks.
Hello, frosty world
Task 1: open eyes. Task 2: totter downstairs and switch off the simmering pot. Right, those two went OK. What's next? Task 3: scan the incoming Powerpoint presentation (thanks, Peter) for viruses (after all, it did originate from a branch of the guvmint1) and then read it to find out how trivially easy it is to trap credit cards in ATMs and con victims out of their PINs. (Develop a new respect for black X-ray film in the process.) Definitely time (09:39) for the cuppa that cheers. Oh yes, stay on Radio 3 (even though it's Wagner) lest I hear anything too upsetting on the "news" before the last extract from Simon Gray's Coda.
Breakfast beckons. Actually, it's still beckoning as I listen to the story of a Chinook and ponder at the bad manners expressed in the comments on this BBC blog. Both are amazing.
There are some equally amazing debt-related stats here. Best not to linger too long over them.
Rejection revisited... dept.
Back in January last year I quoted an elegant (though, I assumed, fictional) letter of rejection from a publisher. Today I've found what may well be the original variant (though I'm left wondering about "ectype"):
Most honorable Sir, We perused your MS. with boundless delight. And we hurry to swear by our ancestors we have never read any other that equals its mastery. Were we to publish your work, we could never presume again on our public and name to print books of a standard not up to yours. For we cannot imagine that the next ten thousand years will offer its ectype. We must therefore refuse your work that shines as it were in the sky and beg you a thousand times to pardon our fault which impairs but our own offices.
I can't help but feel that reading a book of collected letters of this type would cloy very rapidly. Restore a smile with this. (Which reminds me, inevitably, of the only joke I know [or, to be precise, care to recall] about dishwashing.)
Lunch is agitating
It's shaping up (well, I hope so) into a chicken breast and an enticing mixture of fresh veggies. I may even venture into the previously unexplored field of gravy. But it won't be ready until the top of the hour and that's 25 minutes away. Grumble, rumble. So I'm now listening to the risk of dioxin-contaminated Irish pork. We (humans, that is) are really poor at risk assessment.
Well, that's one small culinary step for a man... Very tasty, and a personal first. I have to admit that appetite is an effective appetiser, but the boy done good. Right, Mrs Landingham, what's next? Not a comedy about the credit crunch, that's for sure. A spot of retail therapy, methinks, although only in the "food demanded by Junior" line.
Dropping a Clanger... dept.
I feel mildly annoyed to have missed out on the work of the (now) late Oliver Postgate. I was too old, of course, so I had to make do with his autobiography a few years back. Did you know Bagpuss was a Miao-ist? Worth a listen, certainly, though the page doesn't currently link to information about today's crop, as it were. If I don't start sorting out the detritus in Junior's room I shall be dropping another clanger. Still, he has the food2 he requested. And I'm sure I'll dry out and warm up soon enough...
Further clangers. How did I manage to miss this? Let alone the fact that it was filmed by Danny Boyle.
Lies, damned lies, and official statistics
"Surveys show" that five out of six people believe official stats in the UK are subject to political manipulation. Only five??? I'm shocked, I tell you, Rick, shocked... (Cutting remarks.)
While the second of tonight's delicious programmes on Roy Orbison slides safely onto one of the PVRs I've actually been listening to an intriguing "play" called What I heard about Iraq that I found both powerful and disturbing. Meanwhile, Junior called to announce his departure from London. And — rather amazingly — I've had an email from a "long-lost half-aunt" (her description) I knew not of! I will meet her and her husband just after Christmas at my cousin's place. In between times, I've been feeding myself and frantically tidying up Junior's room: both missions accomplished. Though my study's entropy level has (of course) risen accordingly. If, that is, you choose to interpret "entropy" as "level of disorder" (or chaos).
I think I deserve a cuppa. It's 22:20 and "The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home."