2009 — 26 January: Monday

Slightly unusually, tonight's picture of Christa features Big Bro caught in the act of photographic composition. Click the pic:

Big Bro, Christa, dear Mama, Peter and Florian, 1984

This is, I'm pretty sure, from the summer of 1984 either just before I departed for, or just after I had returned from, a business trip to Texas and Florida. That's Peter's oldest cousin Florian on the right, and dear Mama of course. There was some complicated logistics involved as Christa took Peter and Mama (I don't know about Florian) down to Devon to see my youngest aunt (Mary) and her husband1 while I was over the seas and far away.

I was actually off on a jolly "enjoying" myself with my colleague Graham Meech — we were testing the CICS Application Programming Primer out on a batch of COBOL batch programmers in Dallas, followed by a set of IBMers in Tampa. My co-author Carol and I were delighted by the reception the book received; it's fair to say that opinions within IBM had varied beforehand on whether or not it would work... it did! (Indeed, for several years it sold 30,000 or so copies a year, and gathered some very heartening readers' comment forms — pity there were no royalties involved.)

Though why Big Bro was taking his picture when his subjects (almost) all had their backs turned on him to face me is a mystery to me:

In context

It's 00:01 or so and will soon be time for the last set of meds for the day. It's been another day of peaceful tinkering, and yet more excellent music. I don't think I even unchained the front door!

Say what?!

It seems the guvmint's chief scientific adviser — defending NHS funding for homeopathy — told MPs that "wider factors other than science may be relevant". Could he name two or three, I wonder? (Source.) And I was led to this BBC story by the delicious suggestion that "Religious dictator chosen by groupuscule of priests accuses democratically elected president of arrogance." (Source.)

Interesting times, heh? G'night just as Bob Dylan's excellent Theme Time Radio Hour winds down. Tonight's theme was "war" and gave me a new quote from Bertrand Russell: "War doesn't determine who's right, but only who's left."

As I munch...

... breakfast while listening to a piece on "Woman's Hour" about soft porn, skimming an article surveying many decades of Playboy centrefolds, and almost forgetting to chew at the news that you can be jailed in Thailand for insulting their monarch I can't help recalling Denis Diderot's little gem: "Men will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest".

It's 10:48 and not yet raining!

On I trot

Briefly back from a roundtrip to Winchester and Southampton. Now time to shop for supplies, and then out for a bite to eat somewhere. Still (12:49) not raining! And back, from the Bridge at Shawford, at 15:15 — some days (often Monday mornings, oddly) are just not cut out for cooking. Still blue sky and mostly fluffy white clouds, though there's obviously rain around just waiting for its opportunity. Some lovely stuff (Beethoven's Emperor piano concerto) tinkling away on BBC Radio 3 as I settle contentedly in front of one of the PCs and idly say to myself "Right, what's next?" The finger seems to improve and is even beginning to itch, which I choose to take as a good sign.

Crikey! It's already 19:00 and time for the 3rd pill of the day. Supper will now have to waitabit.2 19:44 and I'm feeling distinctly peckish.

Asides to Christa

Sorry, my love! I've just had to discard the fermenting chemistry lab that was another batch of kiwi fruit from Lidl, so I shall revert to Waitrose for my fruit in future. I've just (22:02) received my next task from Junior, too. I mentioned the woolly hat he forgot to take back with him a week ago. But, of course, he needs it for his impending ski trip. Why oh why does this happen after I've discarded a huge batch of "Jiffy" bags rather than before? Still, at least it prompted me to go down and inspect the contents of the green bin, and then remember to wheel it out for tomorrow's collection! It's quite cool out there, but not raining.

  

Footnotes

1  My Uncle Rex, whom I had last encountered in his guise as one of the military security guards who'd made it possible for me to wander over a Concorde prototype back in 1972 or so.
2  Recall that delightful Eric Frank Russell 1955 SF short story, The Waitabits. Indeed, I've just re-read both it and one of my "desert island discs" short stories by him: Metamorphosite.