2009 — 30 March: Monday
An early night tonight as there's a distinct possibility of a walk later. So, another picture of Christa and a very young Peter in his nursery / bedroom in Old Windsor, in late 1980:
Christa and Peter in Old Windsor, 1980
What proud parents1 we were! G'night.
On this night!
A line from Evita I believe. Every time I try for an early night I end up with a relatively restless time of it. Last night was a medley of dreams and memories from the mid-1960s, well before Christa. Most odd. And now I'm watching the sun trying to burn through fog / mist / whatever and melt the frost on the roof tiles. It's pretty cold out there despite the fact that we're now on summer time. Still, that's what the initial cuppa can help with. It's 08:41 and the sun is at an odd angle (but then I'm not always awake at this time of day to see it). There seems to be a lot of traffic on the motorway, too. Poor wage slaves.
R.I.P. Maurice Jarre
I'm listening to "Lara's theme" right now, in fact. I still remember being taken to see Dr Zhivago in the cinema in Harpenden, and reading the book, too.
Right. Colour me gone — I'm off for a walk. Brrr! It's cold. Ciao.
He's back!
In fact, after a delightful 8-mile stroll around Corhampton Down, I've been back long enough to have watched a delightful 18-minute documentary about one of my all-time "feel-good" movies. Just one of the extras on a Blu-ray that Mr Postie kindly left on my doorstep while I was out... It's hard to believe this film was made in 1983; again, I've owned it on VHS tape, on LaserDisc, and on DVD — mad fool that I am.
Speaking of mad fools, or (perhaps) fools that make me mad, it seems if I stick to BBC Radio 4 I'll hear about £93,000,000 worth of MPs' expenses (and they are getting a 2.33% payrise next month, too). Trough, snout, and similar words spring to mind, somehow.
Here's an unmad non-fool:
Experts are, he thinks, too often crippled by the conventional wisdom they create, leading to the belief that "they know it all." The men he most admires tend to be what he calls "amateurs," inventive spirits of uncredentialed brilliance like Bernhard Schmidt, an eccentric one-armed alcoholic telescope-lens designer; Milton Humason, a janitor at Mount Wilson Observatory in California whose native scientific aptitude was such that he was promoted to staff astronomer; and especially Darwin, who, Dyson says, "was really an amateur and beat the professionals at their own game."
Aside to Christa
My 65th visit to a petrol shop since getting the car in October 2007, my love, and I've now clocked up 13,622 miles. What would you say to that, I wonder? I can picture your smile. It's 18:56, the inner man is fed, the black bin wheeled outside, and the evening lies ahead. One task is to write a "proper" reply to our chum Val in Sweden. I don't think I'll be troubled by any broadcast TV tonight, though FilmFour has one vaguely interesting looking film on quite late. And I have some form of adventure lined up tomorrow for me and my main co-pilot. Who can say what mischief we may get up to?
Just been reading this fascinating piece by Janis Ian — it makes me want to buy her autobiography.