2009 — 11 February: Wednesday
After Mad Men I listened, in fascination, to the documentary about Larry Parnes. But, now that my UK ISP has finally got its act back together after having been down for a couple of hours, it's time for tonight's picture of Christa:
Christa and an Old Windsor bonfire
This would have been in 1976 or 1977. I remember, and we may even still have, that green plastic watering can! G'night.
Over so soon... dept.
Perhaps it's just that I'm awake somewhat earlier, but I note BBC Radio 4 has moved on from covering bankers' sincere apologies to bemoaning the state of Hollywood's output. I also note it is now exactly fifteen months since Christa died. She used to accuse me (fondly, I hasten to add) of being a master of what she called "English understatement". Re-reading a few lines from the last letter she wrote1 to her brothers in October 2007 — a week after she'd been admitted to hospital for the last time — it's perfectly clear that she was just as much a mistress of German understatement! Translating as best I can:
... the situation, I think, is not going well. I have so many metastases, spreading to so many organs, any operation would be very complex and dangerous...
I wonder if I ever mentioned my opinion about that loathsome disease? I expect I may have done. Later today, of course, I'm off for a digital inspection in the hospital where she had her initial radiation treatment back in 1983. My, how time flies. Oh well, it's 09:17 and my tum is of the opinion some breakfast would be welcome.
Heresy! Petra was not a nice dog! (This news will only impinge on readers of a certain age...)
Time to hit the supplies trail
Brrr! It's still minus 1C or thereabouts.
High noon
Not just the code name for an IBM product that should have been cancelled a long time before it was. It's 12:31 and I just have time for a cuppa and a spot of lunch to revive me ahead of my clinic appointment. I gather parking there is even more chaotic when people and bullets intersect on a park bench, which happened last night. CSI Southampton, right here in River City.
And back again, via a sight-seeing trip to Hamble (last visited in the Charlee car, slightly disastrously, a mere 650 days ago) and a cuppa and slice of cake in Brambridge. Thank you, Peter! It's 16:51, with a nice blue sky still up there at the moment. The medical verdict, by the way, is "seems to be clearing up. Keep an eye on it. Keep flexing it. If it gets hot and bothered again, come in and see us. I'll write to your GP." This is absolutely the last time I attempt home treatment on the wart that was the site of the subsequent infection...
Meanwhile...
... I continue to do my bit for the economy. The Elbow CD completes my set of four, and the DVD looked very promising.
Time for a bite to eat, methinks. By the way, surely what happened to HBOS proves that the sacked whistleblower was actually correct in what he said about that doubtless spotless institution possibly lending a few pence too many in the recent past? I find myself idly wondering precisely what services to the financial industry prompted Brenda to make the fine upstanding gentleman in charge at the time a knight of the realm when he left HBOS and became deputy head of the regulatory body that was supposed to be keeping a watchful eye on this shambles? Truly, I must be really really stupid to fail to be able to grasp this...
When I last looked, there were 75 comments on Robert Peston's BBC blog, all but six were "awaiting moderation". Happily, it's not all bad news today. For example, those four Labour peers will not now be investigated by the police. That's a relief!
Having satiated...
... my inner man, I'm now catching up with the first episode of the two-part series about Terry Pratchett in the wake of his Alzheimer's diagnosis on my second PC — thank you, iPlayer. I have to say, developing such a condition is very very high on my own list of personal nightmares. Maybe not quite as high as my losing Christa, but way up there.