2009 — 2 December: Wednesday
I'm too tired for more than a simple placeholder at this point. Tomorrow (as Christa used to say) is another day. And, if I get my druthers, it's going to start with a late start for a start — for a change. I've left the satellite PVR with the task of catching the repeat of Graham Norton; Ian tipped me off that it features Stephen Fry, Bill Bailey, and Annie Lennox. Plus someone I've never heard of. Not a bad prospect.
G'night.
Today's morning mist...
... is being burned off by a bright sun, though I suspect it's nearly as cold as it was yesterday. Much to do, and to think1 about, but first things first (as ever). Like a nice little bit of Welsh harp music on Breakfast.
And breakfast! My mother's neighbour called back a few minutes ago with a depressing "progress" report. Dear Mama has ceased paying for her daily 'meals on wheels' whereas she'd assured me they were paid by direct debit. A local health network has thus stepped in to investigate. Deep unjoy. More to come, doubtless. Aah, the pleasures of great age. She was widowed in mid-1975 and seems to have derived little or no joy2 from her life since then. This was entirely by the series of choices she made, I should add. Fierce independence (some might say cantankerous bloody-mindedness) has long been her guiding light. But I content myself with the thought that her personality and character were formed long before I came along, so I disclaim any responsibility :-)
For some reason, I'm reminded that I still have my friend Paul's copy of her book "Toxic parents" somewhere. I ought to return that.
It's 09:54 and gloriously sunny. Excellent.
Summoned to Southampton by tasks, the continued putting-off of which cannot really be put off... (Translation: I have abjectly failed to source a new battery for my spare car key [I was convinced I would be able to get one cheaper than their outrageous price, but now suspect they have cornered the market in obscure "cell" sizes] so I'm off to see my man in Toyota.)
What's your favourite bird, David?
Well, the one that's given me the most consistent pleasure over many years would have to be drawn from the Penguin, Puffin, Pelican, Peregrine "family":
Today's example — the one on the right — is probably the last book I'll buy in Borders. Following my lunchtime snack, I note we've moved from pleasant sunshine to nasty, cold showers and plenty of nasty, wet clouds. I got back (to my car) just as the rain began, and am pleased that I now have new tyres. The poor car is sitting out getting wet as I'm away later this evening. Meanwhile, I've offered my main co-pilot a lift to the shops should he wish it, but he's currently in the midst of a visit from his "leak fixing" artisans. With the rain right now (14:34) they should have no problem whatsoever pinpointing the entry points...
If this is really what the BBC mean when they forecast "light rain" I'd surely hate to be out in what they call "heavy rain". Still, I've managed to stay dry and contact one of the "health" team that showed up on dear Mama's doorstep yesterday, and also have the name of a gentleman in Social Services who will be carrying out an assessment of this vulnerable old lady in due course. It looks very dark outside, and is doubtless even darker-looking in the Midlands. But what can you say? Old age happens even in the best-regulated of circles.
Having switched my PC...
... back on after the brief thunderstorm, I'm now listening — entranced — to Hannah Gordon reading the short story "Moss Witch" by Sara Maitland; the lady who also wrote enchantingly about silence. Absolutely wonderful! (Podcasts here.)
It's horribly dark out there, but the rain seems to have stopped. Yuk.
More rain. Flipping heck. It's now pitch black out there. And, at 18:18, it's nearly time to think about getting ready to hit the road. Wonder what we're going to watch tonight. (Mike generally has a long list of unwatched stuff to choose from. The only duff one recently has been "Franklyn" which may very well be as clever as it thought it was, but which we both agreed we weren't enjoying within about ten minutes. And if you're really not enjoying a film, why bother?)