2009 — 3 December: Thursday
Well at least by the time I got back home it had more or less stopped raining. It's 01:30 and getting quite near time for some more sleep, methinks. The film we alighted on was that nice, lightweight Pierce Brosnan / Greg Kinnear one "The Matador", which went down well with my two companions — I'd already seen it once, and was pleased to watch it afresh.
We're betting on a walk on Friday (weather permitting). So maybe I'll be able to blag a cuppa1 from Roger and Eileen tomorrow? Now there's a thought! G'night.
"Tomorrow" last night...
... meant, and was already, "today", of course. Last night's driving in the (driving) rain was the heaviest I've yet done. All three lanes of the motorway were equally jam-packed in both directions with all vehicles doing more or less the same speed. And everybody seemed to be allowing about 20% more inter-vehicle spacing than is usually the case. Still nowhere near enough, of course, but what can you do? Most drivers seem unaware of the key concepts of friction and momentum, let alone kinetic energy. Still, I survived.
It's 09:35, the start-me-up cuppa is overdue, and the clouds out there look very wet...
Not an encouraging start... dept.
This is precisely the sort of b*ll*cks that made me stop subscribing to the Guardian after 30 years. Too much more, and I won't even bother to visit the web site...
Checking the author's profile before reading the article would have saved me time. As for "intelligent design", I agree with the comments in general, the ridiculous wriggling that tries in vain to separate ID from religion, and in particular the one that suggests postulating an even more complex designer as the "origin" is simply fatuous. I may well be set in my ways, and I may even be wrong, but I stand by the opinion I expressed just once, on the day after Christa's funeral.
11:55 already! The car needs a top-up, as do some of my grocery shelves, so off we jolly...
Those whom the semi-divine Fowler hath (en)joined...
... let no man (etc etc):
The English-speaking world may be divided into (1) those who neither know nor care what a split infinitive is; (2) those who do not know, but care very much; (3) those who know & condemn; (4) those who know & approve; & (5) those who know and distinguish.
I refuse to consistently avoid split infinitives! (With a tip of the hat to Peter Bloxsom.)
Bonus badness
Mercy me! The directors of the Royal Bank of Scotland (which will, I now learn, soon be 84% owned by me and my fellow tax-paying citizens) have sort of threatened to resign if they're not allowed to pay huge bonuses to some of their staff. I retain a slight residual fondness towards this bank as it was the means by which we paid for our house more quickly, and more (far more) cheaply than the scam that was my endowment mortgage back in 1988 with another probity-filled institution. Nonetheless, a bonus of (say) £1,000,000 is even more obscene than the odd floating duck house claimed by the odd mad MP. (If that isn't an oxymoron.)
Recall what young Mr Obama had to say before he became the planet's alpha male. And Robert Peston.
Late lunch prep...
... was pleasantly enlivened by the studio discussion on criticism. Young Mr Young sounds more pleasant than his written persona. Then, just as I was polishing off my little meal and (probably unlyrically, but doubtless in my prolix fashion) polishing my reply to an email from my ex-ICL chum — we were having a basic disagreement on the value (if any) of "mediocre" crap like Harry Potter but he's now moved on to Georgian and Victorian fiction; I am defending! — along came Mr Amazon Home Delivery Network (aka White van man) with two nice lumps of stuff that we would both enjoy:
I don't know why, I like the things I do, I don't know why, I just do!
Maybe that's a line I could try on Ian?
Right! Hang the dishes; I'm now off to claim a cheeky free cuppa on the other side of our little hamlet.
Is that the time?
Back from Roger and Eileen, I did my evening meal thing and then settled down for another go at watching the DVD I'd borrowed for the second time from Mike: the 1999 film2 "Titus". This time, I got about an hour further into it than the first time several years ago (when Christa and I had tried this rather strange version of — let's be honest — the more than slightly Gothic Shakespeare play). I reached my limit just before the (third) hand was severed. Enough!
I did, however, then enjoy the "Graham Norton" show featuring a slimmed-down Stephen Fry and Bill Bailey. Though I nearly gave up during the first few minutes as I couldn't see any reason for the audience's hysterical laughter and applause. And (personally) I think a little bit of Mr Norton can go quite a long way.