2009 — 26 December: Saturday
I'm enjoying some Mongolian throat singing, a final cuppa, and the prospect of a night's sleep. I also caught most of Judy Dench narrating A wizard of Earthsea but had to duck out in order not to be late arriving in Winchester. A long time since I saw such an empty motorway in the early evening...
Amongst the scudding1 clouds up there as I was putting the car away a few minutes ago I spotted a meteorite. Nice. As was the evening meal and get-together earlier. It's quite chilly, and a bit moist, but above freezing which is the main thing.
G'night.
Cheering myself up...
... by browsing the "Obits" I see that we lost Eric Woolfson earlier this month. He and Alan Parsons were responsible for a range of excellent albums (starting in 1976 with the amazing Tales of Mystery and Imagination) that almost nobody I know seems to know of. 'Twas ever thus. But Christa and I both liked them, as does Peter. Thanks, Eric.
Order, Order
My erstwhile hostess in the Midlands just called: the newly-discovered half-aunt will be calling in en route to a New Year's Eve party for a cuppa and a brief natter. Wonder where I left the Dyson? Mind you, the house could do with (more than) a bit of tidying up, if only to make Peter's room inhabitable. Entropy seems to delight in seizing every chance it gets to spin chaotically out of my control around here.
It's 11:11, the first cuppa is a distant memory, the breakfast remains a thing of the future, and Big Bro has promised to dig out an NZ variant of that missing chocolate orange, bringing nearer the time when I need to tackle the local postage stamp mountain2 for him. I'm due up in the loft in any case on a hunt for a couple of spare Humax boxes. It seems to have ceased to chill out out there, and the sun is shining out of a reasonably blue sky.
If I seem, here...
... to be concentrating fiercely on my feet, it was only because they weren't obeying any commands as I found myself sliding gently across the sheet ice towards the Itchen yesterday morning. At times like that, and with the hoots of derision from one's "friends" urging one towards icy oblivion, I find myself agreeing with the sentiment expressed on the T-shirt Mike gave me for Xmas:
At 14:25, we've just enjoyed the "heavy shower" that the BBC was forecasting for noon. A mere drip or two. Better concoct something for lunch, I guess. (This) Man cannot live entirely by huge Xmas day feasts alone, it seems. Oh, and I should have said — my sample of damson brandy got a "highly commended" from the judges last night. Most encouraging. Perhaps I should go into business.
Curtains drawn...
... for the evening (it's 17:26 — Housman's "The shades of night were falling fast..." if you recall) and I just read a piece from McSweeney's featuring Bethe, Teller and co. It almost had me smiling, dude.
There's a theory — untested around here — that everything comes to he who waits. (Well, that's what dear ol' Dad used to say when I was over-anxious for whatever toy or book was on the current present list in [much] earlier years.) So today's DVD order is, you might say, running true to type. (Clue here.) I figured it wasn't going to get any cheaper, though I don't doubt my chum Brian's "car boot sale" habit will eventually prove me wrong.
Later
Following on from part 1 of Roald Dahl's "Matilda", I caught, on "Pick of the Year", some new definitions:
Newcastle - drop an atomic bomb on Piers Morgan Diagnostic - Welshman uncertain of the existence of God Baltimore - eat a second helping in an Indian restaurant Boomerang - criticise a sweet pudding Catastrophe - my moggy has won a prize