2009 — 19 April: Sunday
Suddenly, it's 01:49 or so. Yawn. Tonight's picture of Christa shows her "good night" smile for me one evening during a summer holiday in Meisenheim in 1977:
I was staying up relatively late, working on a freelance book for ICL. Oh well, g'night.
A sunny morning...
... at 09:18 and, cuppa in hand, it's time to get crockpot stuffing under way.
It's only just occurred to me (on hearing a grudging apology from the Hibernian savant in charge of the mess that is our [and probably every] guvmint) that there's actually a huge difference between saying "I take full responsibility for what happened — I'm sorry" and "I am responsible for what happened — I'm sorry, and I have resigned". But then, as I wade through the "foothills" of Chris Mullin's excellent (but depressing) diaries, I can see that the Peter Principle is alive and well, accompanied by more than a touch of arrogance and hypocrisy.
Listening to NPR's "Car Talk" is somewhat more entertaining than the recently concluded minor-league BBC discussion between Susan Greenfield and Lisa Jardine on what constitutes a polymath and the difference between information and knowledge1 (and the part — if any? — played by education2). But Monsieur le Crockpot is now stuffed, more quickly than ever, and the sun continues to shine from a cloudless sky. The second cuppa will smooth the way to some breakfast, no doubt. And the rest of the day is mine, all mine.
D'ye ken (Emma) Peel?
Oh, Emma! Can this be true?
Mind you, there are those who preferred Steed's earlier side-kick, as played by Honor Blackman. Ex-TV critic Patrick Stoddart set out, in his Memorandum: Sex on TV3 "an idea for an action series in which one of the central characters is a good-looking woman, forever being trapped in sexually compromising situations. We could dress her up in extremely tight-fitting leather, and it would really help the male 25 - 40 demographics if, on most weeks, she was lashed to a bed / rafter / threshing machine / railway line / household appliance, and then threatened by a succession of leering men." But if the idea of a "popular drama serial" redolent with "bondage, rape fantasies and sexual innuendo" is a non-starter today4, "in 1962... not a hair was turned when Honor Blackman first slipped into something uncomfortable for The Avengers."
Caught in my scanner
Horror films rarely float my boat, but there are some honourable exceptions. Here's one such:
Of course, the delectable Catherine Mary Stewart may just have influenced my opinion. Meanwhile, it's 15:38 and the crockpot is taking on a similarly delectable presence down in the dining room.
Later
Tall young Thomas wheeled his baby daughter round for an hour or so this afternoon to help him assess the new toys in my living room and enjoy a hi-def showing of the Wallace and Gromit mini-masterpiece A matter of loaf and death from the Humax satellite PVR, thus giving Sofie a precious respite (I still recall how onerous, if not downright exhausting5, is the life of a young parent).
And now (18:43), I've just polished off the first batch of the latest crockpot "ensemble" and am munching a Granny Smith for my "pud". I have no idea where all the diced leg of lamb disappeared to, but the juice was relatively meaty!
R.I.P. JG Ballard
Dammit! Another fine writer has joined the choir invisible. I particularly liked his collection "The Disaster Area":
My 40-year-old copy (cost: 5/-) is in pretty good nick, though the transparent stick-on film with which I covered many of my earlier books is taking on an aged tint, the adhesive is making some sort of bid for freedom through the cover itself, and the protective film has shrunk slightly. I'm not sure I'd take too much notice of Graham Greene's endorsement, either, bearing in mind what he said about "Pauline Réage's" The story of O. But then, I don't know how well-read Mr G was in what was, at the time, a relatively unpopular field. Ho hum.