2009 — 20 July: Monday
The game's afoot, Watson. We intend to hit some form of aviation-related museum-type place in Yeovilton in a few hours. There's a surprise. Meanwhile, how about tonight's picture of Christa? I took it in Penn in 1975 on one of our weekend visits when Dad was so ill, which partially explains the lack of her usual broad smile. You'd have to know me pretty well before I give the rest of the explanation...
Wow! Talk about putting the boot in:
As it is, the hyperbole of the encomia in The Book of Isaiah, combined with the malicious, snobbish, boastful, cowardly, pompous loghorrhoea of the Letters leave a far less pleasing impression.
It's quite tiring looking after one's elderly brother! So, time for another dash of sleep — g'night. Actually, he's beaten me to it. It's just gone midnight.
There's a Buzz...
... going around. It seems "Eleven of the 1009 people surveyed thought Buzz Lightyear was the first person on the Moon." (Source.) Glorious! (Though I suspect it says more about the sense of humour of people being asked questions, surely? Like putting "Jedi" under "Religion?" on a census form.) Oh well. The sun is shining and I'm on a sort of holiday, it seems. It's 08:36 and I've just been brought a cuppa I didn't have to make for myself. How cool is that?
Followed by a wonderful "Jesus and Mo" — oh happy day. Were it not for the fact that yesterday's ordered toy won't arrive until tomorrow... Patience, David. Time (09:45) we weren't here!
Exocortical technology...
Quick, Mother, pass the modafinil bottle! We're safely back, bearing gifts1 ...
... supping cuppas, at 17:29 and he's even had the gloriously helpful idea of helping me refurbish my ailing front window frames — my usual handywoman having recently been herself so horribly ailing that she's actually no longer around to do this vital task for me. (Mind you, I'm willing to bet she'd stockpiled the needed tools and materials; the only question is "in which shed did she keep all this stuff?") At least I know where the ladder is.
The art of lousy proof-reading...
... is alive and well and thriving in the museum in Middle Wallop (our second aviation-related port of call, on the way home):
Those commas are pesky little blighters, aren't they?
We set off with good intentions, but look what we found ourselves up against:
Later
I shall shortly put on In Bruges for my brother. After that, given the immense likeability of Ray Gosling ("when it comes to underpants [annual] it's quality department stores — pack of three — new"), whom I recall from many years ago, I think I shall tune in to this. It should be wryly amusing, though the topic is far from funny. The use of that phrase "continuing refusal" suggests this is an update from the similar documentary shown in September 2004.
On with the show. Where's the popcorn?