2010 — 4 January: Monday

At 00:21 it's a bracing -4C outside as I decide it's just about time1 for some further sleep. Meanwhile, Big Bro has been waxing (for him) lyrical on the shortcomings of the US and UK economies versus the comparatively sensible stance of the "downunder" banking system. Who am I to argue, living as I do in a country that by all normal rational measures would be deemed bankrupt?

Smoke and mirrors, everywhere I look! And Fife is running out of grit and salt for its roads. G'night.

Nine hours later

Thick frost everywhere (-6C) and I now have an hour in which to grab breakfast, prep a packed lunch, and don sufficient clothing to keep from freezing off my assets on our walk. Shades of Paul Simon's "Slip sliding away", I suspect.

Somewhat later still

Ice under many of the feet, as it were, but no major mishaps (apart from the pileup at the immediately adjacent motorway exit this morning). It's now 14:47 and I've been recently safely decanted out after a pleasant 6.9 miles or so around frozen Fritham with the fun-guys and their dog. Next items of business are close the window downstairs now that Mr Postie's been, and immerse myself in a hot bath while getting outside a hot cuppa.

Tonight, we have Nurse Jackie to look forward to. Could be interesting.

Paid companionship

Also interesting was the phone call from a young lady yclept Debbie at Age Concern (thankfully) just before I'd stepped into the bath. Having taken dear Mama over to her local bank to sort out the arrears on her "Meals on Wheels" payments, they're suggesting (now that her "freebie" period of help is about to expire) what boils down to a part-time paid companion to pop in on her a couple of times a week (initially, at least) to keep a gentle eye on her. Brilliant idea, say I. Go for it.

Would it be alright, asks the young lady, for us to send you an invoice?2 Well, given the relative wealth of the grand dame who was Christa's mother-in-law, and the relative poverty (time-rich, cash-poor, remember) of the ex-IBM pensioner now typing, I mildly suggested that dear Mama was actually the better placed of the sorry pair of us to pay the £15/hour going rate3 for at least the next decade or so! (That will take her safely up to her 103rd birthday.) My line of gentle argument seemed to prevail.

Botheration

I have evidence that not every email sent to me is currently getting through the electric string.

Caught in mid-leap...

... while trying (successfully) to avoid another wet foot!

Leap

Mike must have been poised — camera ready — for any disaster.

It's 20:45, the outside temperature is -5C, there are dishes to be done, plus laundry. Tomorrow's excitement starts early, with an 09:00 session in Dr Fang's chair. Deep unjoy (specially if the roads remain skiddy).

  

Footnotes

1  After a refreshing burst of Seinfeld, including the compilation episode that was #100.
2  Cunningly, before revealing the actual amount (though I wasn't born yesterday).
3  Of course, I may well be the only one to see any irony in our relative positions.