2010 — 18 January: Monday

Got back a few minutes ago at 00:10 with the thermometer on 0C and the Fog index on "quite misty". The film District 9 proved surprisingly entertaining — take note, young Brack, since you'd asked me about it a while back; it's a mixture of black humour, relatively unsubtle social satire, and what could be termed 'grunge' SF. All with added Seth Efrican¹ accents, which makes a change. Not quite sure I see why it's in IMDB's Top 250 already, though — it wasn't that good...

Oh well, just time to sink a final cuppa and get some more sleep, I think. G'night, at 00:43 or thereabouts.

Greeting the new day

Consciousness made its first return at a ridiculously early 04:20 though I gave it short shrift, kicking it back (as it were) into the long grass for another five hours. My friend Andrew would doubtless view this as wasting the best part of the day but my sympathies are more aligned with owls. So it's now 10:08 and the ladies are in full flow on "Woman's Hour" on the armed patriarchy that is Northern Ireland. BBC Radio 3 here I come.

Planning ahead

We'd already tentatively planned the next burst of fresh air for tomorrow but — Mike's just warned me — the fickle beast that works in the depths of the BBC weather forecasting process has just had a massive change of opinion. It looks like a round of carefully-timed supplies shopping may be on the cards, instead. The recent snow and ice at least gave me the chance to understand why it's a good idea to have some basic, long-lasting staples in Mother Hubbard's cupboard (and freezer) alongside the products of my generally more JIT-based approach to the business of feeding myself.²

Must be time for breakfast. I can digest that while gloating over the next of the post-Christmas credit card bills to arrive. This is the card I use for purchases over the Interweb malarkey. Turns out if you don't buy much, you don't have to pay much. This is cool. And I've been credited with £13-61 "cash back earned" — every little helps.

Turning over an old leaf

What other heading would match this?

And a moment's analysis³ should be all you need to see why this crass graphic (from page 30 of the report "Cities Outlook 2010") is so beautifully inappropriate for the theme:

Shades of Chaplin's "Modern Times" which, I note, is more highly-regarded in IMDB's Top 250 films than "District 9". And (if the prices for a DVD copy on Amazon are any guide) has become very rare.

While on an old film theme... They say "you can never go back". This chap proves "them" wrong. Interesting.

The game's a-foot

Actually, I've not really been an assiduous student of the Sherlock Holmes stories in the past, though I've read Conan Doyle's autobiography (and, many years ago, his Professor Challenger stories). But, a couple of weeks before starting my pre-retirement leave from IBM, I took the "elementary" precaution of equipping myself with the complete Penguin set at an affordable £9-99 for those long winter evenings (one day!) Spot the interloper:

I've also made plans for a tiny tea expotition in a few minutes. The first of the new year, in fact. More to come, no doubt. The sun is currently (14:18) still just about shining, and I have just shut the inner man up for a while. He will keep insisting on being fed, but seems to thrive on my crockpotted extravaganzas. Meat and multiple veg or very thick soup depending on your point of view. Nutritious either way.

I know that feeling... dept.

It's now two years plus further along Life's little highway for me, but I can still remember several taxi rides back from the hospital when I would look numbly out at the world while thinking "How dare the world simply carry on as normal while Christa is dying?"...

I remember walking down the street when Dad died and thinking, 'Why does nobody know that at 4 o'clock this morning my father died? How bizarre is that?' Now, when I'm in a street full of people, I think there's somebody walking past me who's just had a trauma of some sort.

Kirsty Wark in The Guardian

A common enough experience, according to Virginia Ironside's wise little book. Indeed, make that "many people" rather than "somebody". Ho-hum. Time to placate the inner man again. It's 18:53 already and, of course, pitch black out there. Yuk.

No yolking matter(s)

Recall a recent trio of duck eggs? Having just eaten the third, and again pondered the perfect riposte, I psyched myself up for its delivery a few minutes ago, only to discover that their lights may be on but the blighters are away. No matter; my riposte is reasonably non-perishable. It will keep. Guess who left the immersion heater switched on 24 hours longer than needed? <Sigh> Right, I'm off downstairs to watch "Swing". Which, for unknown reasons, is only available on a DVD from Holland.

Footnotes

¹  I was able to tune into the accent since I'd known a chap from South Africa while staying at the Astwick Manor apprentice hostel in 1969/70. He was a trainee graphic artist and it was his Panasonic radio-recorder that gave me the idea of getting a similar toy for myself. (You can see it here.) That was really the start of my hi-fi adventures, come to think of it.
²  I was fed as a lad. I was fed as an apprentice. I was fed as a husband. It's only since losing Christa that I've ever really had to pay much attention to feeding myself. Some of my attempts are better than others. Still, my weight seems to be stable, and my input is generally pretty healthy. I'm aware that "fresh" stuff is "better" than tinned, processed or packaged stuff, so that has tended to be my guiding principle. Although it's completely irrational to say "I owe it to Christa" she remains very influential, which is a neat trick considering the poor girl is dead.
³  Or simple hands-on experience from those Meccano gearbox days of your un-misspent youth!