2009 — 14 August: Friday
Oops! Got a bit distracted there for a while; it's already 01:25 and I need to be up bright and early in a few hours if I'm to have time to prep the next crockpot before setting off on the planned walk. So, tonight's picture of Christa, taken in Old Windsor early one morning in the summer of 1974 shortly before we'd decided to "tie the knot":
As I recently had to explain to one of the nieces, Christa's hair colour, particularly in the early years, tended to vary more than somewhat. She was also envious of my boyish curls(!) and went through phases of experimentation with curling technology (not that "technology" is really an appropriate term). Her hair, her business. Beautiful woman.
G'night.
Minor change of plan
I was reading until nearly 3 a.m. so, as I hate doing stuff in a rush when I'm a bit dopey, I've decided to prepare Monsieur Le Crockpot tomorrow morning, to the strains of whatever Brian1 Matthew plays on his Saturday morning show. So it will be a "cooked breakfast" for me tonight after what's quite often an appetite-suppressing walk in what looks (at the moment) very much like sunshine. It's 08:54 and cuppa #1 is on the runway, and cleared for supping.
Choosing words carefully
While not necessarily agreeing with the reviewers, I generally enjoy reading the book reviews on Spiked. But sometimes I wince:
A chapter by Jonathan Herring on rape argues that 'the current law fails to properly acknowledge the responsibilities that people have when they engage in sexual penetration'... by arguing that the law should view alleged crimes in their social and cultural context in order to recognise autonomy as relational rather than individual, he moves away from a legal subject who is rational and autonomous and towards a victimised and infinitely more individualised subject whose autonomy is doubted and whose intimate relationships would be opened up to an unimaginable degree of scrutiny.
You think?
Hard choices
I was blissfully unaware of the launch, let alone the existence, of a new magazine ("Filament") for women. It seems issue #2 has entered turbulent waters. I find myself very sympathetic towards one of the comments in particular:
This story is emblematic of everything I love about the Guardian. The world hurtles towards hell in a handcart, and the Graun gets engorged by a debate on stiffies...
On a different note, this was amazingly good when I caught it some time ago. Particularly when viewed alongside the film "Control".
Later
It's 18:03 and I've been back for three hours or so after a 7.1 mile hike around one of our Lepe country park2 routes down near Exbury. Sunny, slight breeze, reasonably clear views over to the Island, not too smelly though the tide was well out. Good company, too. And a mad dog name of "Bobby". It's good for us. Unlike the rubbish currently on BBC Radio 4. News and sane commentary? I think not. Back to the music. What's next, Mrs Landingham? A bite to eat, I'm predicting. And (of course) another cuppa.
Having just been listening to AL Kennedy I (naturally) set off to explore her web site, then got diverted (via her links page) to the Death Clock! Here's my own result. Mind you, today's lunchtime topics included the asteroid that's going to zap us (all) in 2012 at the end of the Mayan calendar...
Oddly enough, I was thinking just this morning (while sorting out this year's upcoming batch of four birthday bashes) that I have only to live another couple of months to exceed my poor ol' Dad's "score". Dear mama, of course, has already survived him by 34 years. As, indeed, I've now survived Christa by 21 months. Good job this stuff isn't linear. Or knowable in advance. We'd go mad.