2010 — 5 February: Friday
I'm sure too much Jonathan Meades isn't entirely healthy. I was catching up on the strangeness that is the Isle of Rust. Not to mention the next bit of the Big Bang Theory. Now (it's 00:56 or so) "Late Junction" is winding down, and the eyelids are trying to slam together, so I shall call it a night.
G'night.
She's right, you know!
Three days after the World Trade Centre attack, Mary Beard wrote words to the effect that:
World bullies, even if their heart is in the right place, will get it in the end.
Her comment (which I was blissfully unaware of at the time, but which provoked hostile reactions despite [because of?] its essential truth) aligns — perfectly — with a 1970 cartoon by Ron Cobb. It's a six-panel progression showing what happens when "the establishment" steadfastly ignores aggrieved young citizens protesting a series of outrages: the Klan, the 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago, the war in Vietnam, strikes, all the usual suspects. These final two panels convey the essence:
It's interesting, too, to consider that Beard's ability to articulate and share her thoughts began (probably in Mesopotamia) when a clay tablet was inscribed with details of a ration of beer as payment for government work. And Woman's Hour is pondering how to get more women into that much-vaunted bastion of democracy, the UK parliament. We still have less than 20% women MPs. Amazing.
But the sun is shining, the breakfast is digesting, no further radiators are currently leaking, and I have a lunch date with my chum Len.
Buried alive...
... for talking to boys? Un-bloody-believable. (Source.)
Phonus Interruptus
My heading is from a gorgeous cartoon series by Sarah Downs ("Betsy's Buddies") and Harvey Kurtzman. One panel will suffice:
What prompted it? Well, let's see. BT has just snailmailed me with an offer to pay for unlimited free calls. I suppose I have to admire the illogicality of this. Or do I?
Meanwhile, the Mobileworld phone I bought for Christa in the hospice (hitting a Carphone Warehouse bollard in the process) tells me by text message that it is closing its service on 26 March. I can "upgrade" to their new service and get £5 credit... but a) I must use up all my existing credit (probably about £40 as I use it so rarely) before fitting the replacement SIM they would send me (whatever that is!) and b) they want loads of essentially marketing details from me that leave me stone cold. So, as I said to Junior: "Now would be a good time to advise me, though all I really want is a simple, pay as you go, mobile phone for carrying for emergency use." Is that so difficult?
Time (11:49) to don a glad rag or two for my "meeting". I've also arranged to flit over to see Roger and Eileen this afternoon. Busy boy. And the sun is positively shining, too. Ideal walking weather. Bet it won't keep until the weekend. [Pause] The inner man is now satiated, Len's "laser rot" issues have been explored. It's still bright, but has become very much cloudier. 13:30 — what's next, Mrs Landingham?
A free cuppa at the bungalow, followed by a free cuppa over with Roger. I shall soon be gurgling. Off we go. Still no sign (14:59) of all that torrential rain, either.
Later
Having laughed at the proposition expressed here that "Just because [Prince Charles is] the idiot spawn of incestuous robber-barons doesn't mean he's not entitled to his opinion" I suppose, at 19:14, I should cram in another couple of calories. [Pause] And, having done so, I now realise that I've just made the first scrambled eggs since shortly after Christa died. How weird is that? Mind you, I no longer have any cream to add to it!