2009 — 2 January: Friday
This time, it's a mere 01:05 and — 82 miles or so later — I'm just back from the wilds of Verwood. I stopped off at Mike's after the delicious meal at his Mum's (thanks, Roy!) to examine all the "extras" on that wonderful Across the Universe disc.
I'm also relieved to see that my web server access speed appears to have resumed normal service. As has email, thank goodness. Nonetheless, I'm now a bit too tired to process and publish another picture of Christa until I've caught up on some sleep.
But, having said that, how can I resist this picture from 1982 which gave me an excuse to name the JPEG "CPSnow"?!
The garage door has changed physically, and (twice) in colour since then. And the FM aerial array grew some extra directors and a better reflector. Plus, the net curtains (which we both hated) were long ago replaced by stick-on solar film and some DIY double glazing. And the wooden window frames are rather darker under numerous (semi-annual?) layers of "Sadolin" though they are once again in need of some TLC.
Where's Christa when you need her, heh? <Sigh> G'night at 01:36 or so.
Good God!
Goldman Sachs has cut its pay bill by half this year, although its 30,000 employees still earned an average of £250,000. (Source.)
My apologies
For the last few hours, this malformed diary page would only display the photo to "Firefox" users, not IE or Opera users. Not — sadly — because of the inherent superiority of that browser, but because it simply ignored the fact that I had failed to terminate an opening "DIV" tag correctly. Sorry about that. Obviously time (10:42) for a bite to eat in addition to the cup that awakens.
Can you hear...
... those distant crashing waves? I can, and their annual lure is too much to resist. See (sea?) you later!
That's better! It's 16:32 and I'm safely back, and about to wrap myself round a cuppa. I got to my usual parking spot just after 13:30 and even reverse parked into it, taking only two goes to get the Yaris into its slot. A quick penny at the BIC, a gentle stroll out along the pier, misty-eyed observation of the blue sky, though I could only just make out Old Harry, and there was no sign of the Isle of Wight. Reasonable waves, not too breezy, not too cold. Sandwiches back at the car, then the usual tour of Waterstones and Borders — the latter was too crowded for my current level of queuing patience, so I popped my selection onto the bargain table and hightailed it.
Just heard a Mencken quote new to me. It cropped up at the end of a 40-year-old "Letter from America" (Alistair Cooke) that had been re-recorded since the loss of the original, and described the fate / state of every US Vice President: "A man who sits in the outer office, hoping to hear the President sneeze."
As I listen (delightedly) to the BBC Radio 2 programme on Motown record producers, I can show the three books I grabbed in Bournemouth (by three of my favourite writers — it can be argued that all the writers I like are my favourites, of course) and the CD that Mr Postie handed to me a couple of days ago. (I bought it on the strength of a single track, so here's hoping.)
Diana Athill is the same age as dear Mama, but oh so very different. Maureen Lipman is a National Treasure. Felix Dennis is a delightful poet, it turns out.
In an hour or so, BBC4 seems to be going prog rock mad, so I should just have time to dish the dos, make myself a mug of something warm, quite possibly with a splash of something warming in it, and settle myself mindlessly in front of my idiot box for a change. Bliss.