2010 — 3 January: Sunday
If last night is any guide, later today is going to be a good day for staying indoors and ignoring the frost. I got back from a film and a meal with Mike just in time to catch the half hour programme on The Kalevala. Excellent stuff. Less keen on the -5C outside as I drove home. Don't like frosty roads, to be honest.
We'd both seen Luis Mandoki's film "Angel Eyes" before, but not for nearly ten years. Just right. And I left my copy of "Twilight #4" for Bryan to read (another convert). Yawn. G'night!
Resuming...
... at 09:31 with a hot cuppa, a cold (frosty -2C) exterior, reasonable sunshine and a high barometer. I woke a couple of hours ago but couldn't see any prospect of a return to the Land of Nod so instead I resumed my travels through the only faintly glutinous Gyles Brandreth diaries. I've just finished 1973 through 1976 which coincided, of course, with my change from the world of aviation to that of computers, the death of my father, meeting and quickly marrying Christa. Not to mention moving from student digs to a flat, to becoming a 'man of property'. Interesting times. Brandreth, meanwhile, was establishing his theatrical and literary careers, marrying, buying property, etc etc
I never realised Clydesdale and Yorkshire banks are now owned by National Australia Bank. With more to come, it seems. Including the splitting of Northern Rock into a "good" bank and a "bad" bank. Guess which one NAB wants to buy? (Source.)
Further insanity:
But soaring house prices didn't count as inflation. Literally. They were excluded from the measure that the newly independent Bank of England was supposed to watch when setting interest rates after 1997. Over the next 10 years, the average cost of a house for a first-time buyer rose by 200 per cent.
We absorbed the price shock by borrowing from the banks. Interest rates were low because, technically speaking, there was no inflation. And because most people paid their mortgages, the debt was considered low-risk, so banks could use it as collateral to borrow more from each other. As with so much of the financial system in the noughties, stupid was elegantly disguised as clever.
I can't help wondering if young Rafael is a relative of Edward — the author in 1978 of a rollicking autobiographical set1 of his reminiscences as a foreign correspondent. But the obits make no mention of a son.
10:33 — time for some breakfast, methinks.
Heinlein
I'm listening to a 1948 story from this collection by the gentleman who taught me a great deal during my adolescence. My copy dates from 1967, but is one of the "can't bear to part with it" books:
Cross over St Cross
I note one of my routes into Winchester is closed off from tomorrow for the next three months. Bother. I further note it's 13:26 and I'm getting hungry. Bother. And Roger just rang, so I'm now belatedly aware of this utterly ludicrous legislation in Ireland. The 25 quotes are marvellous.
To confirm my geeky credentials, I've finished watching my DVD of the film "Helvetica" and all the extra interviews (95 minutes on top of the 88 minutes of the film itself). Absolute magic, and it's given me a few ideas, too. Somehow it's now 17:41, horribly dark and cold out there, and already almost time for my next meal. We've planned a repeat walk over in Fritham tomorrow — the mud should all be nicely frozen. With luck, I won't repeat the wet foot incident.
Parent motivators
Oh dear! I rather hoped this was a piece of satire. Not so, it seems.
Later thoughts
You know what? I miss Christa for so many reasons. Currently (for example) I miss her because she's not here to share my delight at the successful upgrade of the firmware in my Oppo Blu-ray player to the latest beta public level. For example, I can now shift subtitles up and down, shift the on-screen display around, stream video from a DLNA-capable media server, enjoy better automated hdmi audio support, and play a wider range of Blu-ray discs. After the (necessary) factory reset, it took less than five minutes to regain my optimal playback settings.
So I shall have to drink my celebratory cuppa alone, won't I? It's 21:05 and the evening is, as it were, my oyster.