2009 — 10 November: Tuesday
Well, 20 years ago the Berlin Wall was tumbling, and Christa was following events with delighted fascination. Ten years before that, we were entertaining an ex-ICL chum and she actually wore a dress for the occasion:
I shall have another go at the local tip first thing, unless the weather is too foul. G'night.
There are worse things...
... to awaken to than Beethoven's "Moonlight" sonata. Glorious music, too long unheard. It's now 09:06, distinctly moist (and cool) out there, thoroughly grey-clouded but — what the hell? — I have a fresh cuppa to warm me on this, the last day of my second year of the strange trip that is widowerhood. And I've promised myself an early repeat trip of another sort... to the tip.
One is hardly spoiled for choice when leading stories on the Grauniad's front web page celebrate the 40th birthday of Sesame Street, the recall of one million Mclaren baby buggies (in the US) over 12 reported fingertip amputations, and a doctor's guide to dental flossing. I shall click elsewhere...
Mind you, stumbling, still bleary-eyed, across the euphemism "hirsute abyss of God's little oven" is enough to send me in search of breakfast and some fresh air. I confess I had never heard of Ms Parker. (Source.) Grody to the max, if I recall1 my Valley speak.
Glowing...
... with the knowledge of tipping and shopping all done at a mere 10:33 (drizzle be damned) and with an afternoon tea expotition tentatively arranged, I was feeling cheerful enough for breakfast until I started listening to "Woman's Hour" on anti-depressants. Back to NPR, methinks.
I noticed a magazine about autism on the shelves of Borders yesterday. Today I see that the American Psychiatric Association is considering removing Asperger syndrome from the next edition of their weighty manual of mental disorders. Simon Baron-Cohen has an elegantly-written set of thoughts on the wisdom (or otherwise) of this, here.
My, that was bracing
Just back from a lunch ("full English") trip out to the Sammy Miller Motorcycle Museum followed by sight-seeing from the clifftop at Barton on Sea. (In fact, I now think the photo I published last November was taken there rather than Highcliffe. It's too late to ask, of course!) Very clear, some wild clouds nicely backlit by the sun, good view of the Needles, over to Swanage, and Studland. Smooth sea, too. Cold, though. Next task is to settle the car down for an early night. It's 14:52 and NPR is also celebrating Sesame Street. What did I miss, I wonder?
We drove past the scene of the "crime", it seems, in New Milton. An unorthodox cash withdrawal. That's enough excitement for one day.
You hafta laff...
Pottering around, bringing an un-used pair of Wharfedale speakers down from the loft for use as my study PC sound system, thus freeing up the deliciously petite "Rock Solids" for use as the surround pair down in the living room, thus freeing up the "Castle Avons" and their over-bearing wall-mounted swivel stands, while listening to one of my favourite gadflies — Theodore Dalrymple — interviewed as part of the "Law in Action" programme arguing against further muddling up the criminal justice system with the mental health system.
He's just described the oft-quoted figure of 90% of people in prison having a mental health problem as "utter drivel and corrupt nonsense", and gone on to accuse the "complete laxity and complete lack of reason by the Courts". I predict (new) favourite gadfly Quentin Letts (in the new book delivered while I was out)...
... will have something similar to say.
Suddenly...
... it's not only later (as in 20:08 already) but I'm starving hungry. All I need is one lousy composite video lead to fit temporarily twixt the Audiolab pre-amp and the DVDO Edge scaler, and I'll be able (if I remember how) to tell the system that the current surround speakers are now "small" and thus to divert any low bass away from them before they have a chance to go "bang".2 Said leads live in boxes underneath Junior's bed. Path to said bed needs to be (somewhat) cleared. I also have to clear the disgustingly large amount of fluff'n'stuff sucked up by the Dyson from underneath my bed (path to which didn't need to be cleared) while I was hunting for suitable wood screws. Don't ask.
Thanks a bunch, young Brack, for the several hours of my life that will now have to be spent exploring this marvellous site. Words fail me, you perisher.