2009 — 25 June: Thursday
I'm a little disappointed — I paid the entirely reasonable upgrade fee for the latest level of my favourite "Artwork" program (Xara Xtreme), downloaded the software, but they have yet to email me the activation unlock code. Bother. I'm also finding the insect bite on my left palm is starting to itch, blast it.
Oh well, come back with me in time some 32 years for tonight's photo of Christa. We both decided that one of the coolest things about Guernsey (back in 1977, during our first of several happy holiday visits) was the little fleet of ancient1 buses:
As I said at her funeral service "how she loved to travel!" I'm much less enthusiastic, but generally went along, as it were, for the ride.
It's 01:47 or so. I've just confirmed (I hope) a walk for later on, and finished the third novel. It's an excellent trilogy, and I suspect Peter will also enjoy it. I've also just successfully activated and registered my new Xara software and confirmed its basic functionality. I must say, it's a lovely bit of coding. But now I'd better get a spot of sleep. G'night. (Goodness me; are the nights drawing in already?!)
Earwiggo
Not too sunny; not too hot; bit of cloud cover. Pretty good walking weather. I need some supplies later, too.
It's 08:55 and as I navigated to the subdirectory containing this file I've been struck by the oddest of thoughts. This is the 966th day of my retirement, and I've now been retired for nearly as long as JFK served as US President. A majority of that time has already been without Christa physically by my side, too. When I think about that (and I confess I do!) it still all seems very strange. I'm fully aware that Life goes on, and that Time heals, and the Road goes ever on, and doubtless other clichés obtain, too. As I plod along, I also realise I am getting "better" at this widower lark. But what (un)larks, Pip ol' chap, what (un)larks!
Mayhaps I could use a placebo? (Good article.) Right, time to prep my packed lunch.
Live and let live
I would be the first to admit I have no general philosophy of life. I bumble along, adhering more or less to a policy of "live and let live". I don't much mind what other people get up to, or how they seek their own enjoyment, until and unless it impinges on me. Then I get cross. This morning's example2 is an over-loud PA system, on which a frankly not well-spoken young man is witlessly narrating the progress of some events of total uninterest to me in the faux-excited manner he is doubtless merely imitating from examples he's heard. But which nonetheless requires me to shut my windows to keep his inane wittering out.
Literally sounds like a good day to take myself off into the local countryside for some peace and quiet. The bliss of (almost) solitude — Mike is equally appreciative of the peace and quiet we've been able to find in many remote corners of Hampshire. Give me a skylark or a lapwing any day!
Later
Alas, no lapwings today. After the shower that renders me partially fit to go out in society once again (as it were), which follows the floral obstacle course that we ended up on (largely because we didn't much fancy being used for live target practice on the Army firing range) and the scratches and (further) nettle stings endured by my detouring from a path that was basically blocked by fallen stuff (and hence once more over a barbed wire fence, too, dammit), all in what felt at times like 100% humidity. Remind me why we do this? Oh yes; we enjoy it.
I've just proved that killing the Java process before shutting the PC down does indeed stop the Firefox browser from thinking it had fallen over. But (relatedly? who knows?) the desktop once again assumed its default primary school colour scheme and, in a new twist, lost all icons while I fixed that. While a completely blank Windows desktop does have a certain Zen-like charm, it's not much practical use. I shall start the countdown to my re-installation, methinks. But first, of course, a cuppa, and then I have to nip back out to free on bail yet further imported goodies that the Post Orifice is holding hostage. Need some more bread, too.
Still, somewhere on Mike's mega-pixel memory card should be quite a pretty little caterpillar adjacent to a teazle (teasle?). And there was a brightly-coloured winged "bug" on a thistle, too. (I'm pretty sure "bug" is the correct technical term.)
It's (un)Christmas
I'd just got back with my imported Amazon parcel when a big white van turned up with another one. Whee! (Whenever I got home and there'd been a delivery, Christa used to tease me that she'd hidden it away until Christmas.) Well, I bought my first vinyl LP3 in 1971. I liked vinyl, not least because of the occasional beautiful and often interesting cover artwork and, by the time we moved down here, the collection had grown to about 1,000 or so albums. So there is much interesting reading here, in a book I heard about during last week's Freak Zone. Click the pic for the back-cover summary.
Our tastes mostly overlapped, though neither of us liked country and western. Then along came CDs, and I promptly sold off the bulk of the albums to various IBMers in the Lab to finance my new, digital habit. The remainder went to a multi-hand shop4 that Christa found somewhere in Portswood.
The imported parcel? I enjoyed the film American Beauty and also the five seasons of Six feet under. The chap responsible for these — Alan Ball— has turned his attention to the "Sookie Stackhouse" novels of Charlaine Harris with a new HBO series: True Blood. We shall see...
