2009 — 27 January: Tuesday — happy birthday, Big Bro!
I'm sure you don't look a day over, well, gosh, erm, 63!!! Poor ol' thing. So, for Lis (who sent me a "LOL" when she saw your blue suit yesterday) here's today's picture. I note dear Mama shares, with Peter, the ability to close her eyes precisely as the shutter1 clicks:
Christa, our nephew Florian, Big Bro, and dear Mama, 1984
Many happy returns.
It's 00:21 or so and nearly time for the last set of meds for the day. At least I managed to unchain the front door to get out and about a bit. It's been a good day, actually. The finger continues to improve. It's lost flexibility, but the pain is diminishing. Still six days of meds to go, though.
The foggy, foggy dew
They got yesterday's forecast of rain wrong, locally at least. But the mention of a foggy start is spot-on. It's 08:48 and consciousness is, as it were, back online. Sort of. It's been gently pointed out to me that my glancing reference (also yesterday) to guvmint scientific advisers overlooks the effect of what you could call conflicted aims:
Prime Ministers don't want scientific advice that undermines their populist prejudices (aka policies), whilst
Scientists don't want government policies that undermine their scientific sand boxes (aka spending allocations)
So government Chief Scientists either speak their mind and get gagged; speak their mind and get pilloried; or produce lengthy reports on the impact of future technologies
on the production of bicycle sheds in sub-saharan Africa.
I expect my mole to forward me a beautifully-written report in due course!
I'm listening to a suggestion that "naming and shaming" is plainly insufficient to deal with some of our errant "Lords". I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked...
Witches' brew
It's 10:31 and the next crockpot extravaganza is becoming thermally agitated. I must say, an index finger that's hors de combat doesn't make for easier slicing and dicing. I also had to resort to a pair of pliers to open the canned tomatoes in olive oil with garlic! A gripping tale. Next task, after breakfast and my second cuppa (of course) will be to post Junior's floppy hat to him. I unearthed a Jiffy bag from "Play.com" that Christa had salted away and already prepared for re-use with some stuck-on white labels. My neighbour's advice is to avoid driving in the fog — I share his opinion.
I very much enjoy music by Stravinsky. I hesitate to pick a favourite piece, though Pulcinella is way up there. This was long thought to be based on pieces by Pergolesi, whose delightful Concerto for oboe and strings has just ended on BBC Radio 3. Great stuff. And, again, I'm not sure I fully agree with Virginia Ironside's bit of advice: "If you want to cry, listen to music. If you don't, don't". I don't, but I did, and I didn't!
My new word for today: dysrationalia.
Environmental arguments
I assume the kettle I've just used to make a much-needed cuppa has negated the "good" I just did2 by not getting the car out of its nest. Not that there was any shortage of other vehicles out there, many of them with just a driver in them (well, all of those that were moving, certainly!) Nearly time (12:57) for a bit(e) of lunch, methinks. The crockpot smells enticing but, of course, is only about one third cooked.
A couple of decades ago, I subscribed for a year to the London Review of Books. I've found some amusing samples from their Personal Ads. Snippet and source:
I vacillate wildly between a number of archetypes including, but not limited to, Muriel Spark witticism-trading doyenne, Mariella Frostrup charismatic socialite, brooding, intense Marianne Faithful visionary, and kleptomaniac Germaine Greer amateur upholsterer and ladies' league darts champion. Woman, 43. Everything I just said was a lie. Apart from the bit about darts. And kleptomania. Great tits though. Box no. 2236.
News of the warm-hearted ("burn in hell") sentiments expressed in emails to David Attenborough that he receives from creationists is another thing makes me glad to be secular. Like Darwin, Attenborough uses the example of a parasitic worm to cast some degree of doubt of the benevolence (rather than malevolence) of our doughty creator.
Still almost daylight
The central heating has just switched itself on (16:32 or thereabouts) and I've been having an unfeasible amount of fun re-browsing3 Alexei Panshin's Abyss of Wonder inbetween bouts of under-the-covers fixing of parts of my nefarious little web site.
Purely as an experiment, I've just downloaded a lump of software that purports (among other uses) to permit me to rip, convert, and transfer video files to my dinky little iPod. Watch this screen!
The crockpot was a success. "Desmo" is on the steam wireless. I've just carved up a nice orange as my pudding. Next task: do the dishes, to make room for the usual chilling-down of the rest of the "stew". Is this the life? I guess it must be! Good grief, forty years since the final Beatles' live performance on the roof of the Apple building. An awful lot has happened in the time since then...