2009 — 25 July: Saturday
It's not long gone midnight1 and I'm drooping here, so I shall sign off with another picture of Christa in Old Windsor:
Christa in Old Windsor, 1976? 1977?
Somewhat ironically, given that John has made a start on the window frames at the front of the house, yet another double-glazing salesman cold-called a few hours ago. Just after Bro had set off, in fact. I didn't apply the top coat today because the stuff needs 16 hours to dry and I don't think we've got that much contiguous dry weather in our near future. We shall see. The window frames of our house in Old Windsor were 25 years old when we bought it, and were definitely starting to rot. But they'd used a soft wood. My frames here seem to be of tougher stuff, though they're now 28 years old. It's almost unbelievable how Time flies.
G'night.
Sunny?
Good grief! Brian Matthew has a seemingly inexhaustible supply of background info about the music he plays from the 1960s, but there are some real clunkers in the mix. Time for a cuppa.
Yesterday's giant "aphids" look almost like locusts. Are the wolves coming down from the hills? Just what we need in this country!
Still on Edge
Henry has just told me I'll get the replacement box on Tuesday, and the driver will also pick up the faulty unit. This is good, though I can foresee a problem if it turns out either or both the Onkyo and my present hdmi-equipped video sources have some basic incompatibility with the hdmi inputs on the Edge. But since I get perfect test pattern signals from the Edge into the Pioneer plasma, at least I know that end of the business is fine.
The "Onion" is off on one. This made me smile.
It's noon and time to start getting ready for my lunch date over in Winchester in Andrew's garden. I've washed and dried Bro's laundry, checked on the "aphids"2 — one is still in place — and cleaned up the house a little ahead of tomorrow's minor-league family invasion. What's next, Mrs Landingham?
Well, I don't think this is very funny; more sadly amusing, perhaps. Source and snippet:
If you spend hours online, have sex more frequently than aging psychiatrists, and moan incessantly that the federal government can't account for all its TARP funds, take heed: You may soon be classed among the 48 million Americans the APA already considers mentally ill.
You don't see a psychiatrist? You must be crazy! (Don't get me started.)
Later
Back at 17:30 and curling around a cuppa before a little more prep for the familial invasion tomorrow. The rain mostly held off in Winchester, though the clouds were dark and heavy. In contrast, Chandler's Ford is bright, sunny, and warm — the porch thermo showed 34C on the way in a few minutes ago.
Almost enough time has now elapsed to permit me to think vaguely about an evening meal (or snack, at least). And there's a repeat of a 1992 Simon Gray play with, as its half-time treat, a profile of the man by Alan Yentob. BBC4 continues to delight me more than any other broadcast TV channel. It's a shame that the Radio Times listing disagrees with the current Freesat EPG about the transmission times.