2009 — 21 February: Saturday
Another sleepy chap (compare and contrast with the picture here):
Christa and Peter in 1983, I suspect
By the time he had been read to for long enough to get him to fall asleep, it's arguable which of us was the more tired. There was a period when, I swear, I knew the Reverend Awdrey's "Thomas the Tank Engine" series better than I knew the CICS command-level application programming interface.1 Sometimes (and I still don't know how she managed the trick) Christa would simply make up stories that continued over several nights. Amazing woman.
I forgot to mention a nice little comedy CD from that master of the paraprosdokian, Emo. It showed up just as Len and I got back from lunch yesterday:
Oh well, g'night at about 00:02 or so.
And a good, sunny, morning...
... at 08:27 as, with mug of steamin' tea at hand, I contemplate the ineffable whichness of the why to the delicious musical choices of Brian Matthew. "They don't make 'em like that any more!" So, too, with art by Salvador Dali it seems. The more I learn of his latter years, the less I like. But I shall be keeping my 1972 Athena artblock print of "Metamorphosis of Narcissus" in the living room — never fear. Until it's completely faded...
Breakfast is now being loaded, though I'm assured that (as it's only a 5-mile road walk) I won't need a packed lunch. I expect I shall shrink-wrap a little nibble or two just in case.
Safely back
It's 13:06 and the sun is still shining away up there. Nice little burst of fresh air, and now a healthy appetite to be satisfied. Good grief! Suddenly it's 18:01 and not a lot seems to have got done. Mind you, I was pleased to hear Alan Bennett's "The lady in the van" this afternoon, though it was not an unmelancholy tale. I think a hot bath features in my near future. Tea first, or afterwards? Now there's a decision!
Later
Peter phoned literally as I was stepping into the bath, so I left a one-footed trail to the phone to catch his good wishes and, in turn, to wish him a safe and enjoyable snow boarding trip for the next couple of weeks — in France, somewhere. Having checked he's insured, I refuse to worry as — if the last 18 months or so have taught me anything — it has to be that worry is an entirely futile waste of time and energy. So I've quietly toasted him and Christa with a small glass of port after my meal, and am now contemplating the evening's gentle pottering about.
Which rather indolently encompassed the rest of Season #2 of Weeds — excellent stuff, and a nice cliffhanger ending, too. Plus a nice BBC4 documentary on the music of Detroit.