2010 — 24 February: Wednesday
No TV this evening, just a bit of radio, a couple of nice John Martyn CDs, and a book. It seems to be both cold and wet out there. As usual, it's now after midnight and I realise I'm actually very tired... need some beauty sleep! G'night.
Where's the rain?
It's 10:26 and we're contemplating a local, road-based ramble. Breakfast has been hastily shovelled in (as usual) and Junior (who's in Denmark right now) has been pinged back to reassure him he'll be welcome at the weekend. Haven't even drunk my first cuppa! There was something else. What was it? Oh. yes. Get dressed!
My (Spanish-owned) bank is clamping down:
Important information From 1 May 2010 you will no longer be able to make cash deposits at a Post Office without using your card. You may be charged £2.50 for each transaction if you use any paper slips to deposit cash.
That would interest me if a) I had any cash to deposit, and b) we still had a local Post Office. Meanwhile, Junior has obviously managed to remain unaware of Toyota's global recall woes. Oops. Finger on the pulse, that young man. Finger on the pulse.
We're going to risk it, but pack the waterproof gear. Must be mad. Hopefully, fresh air will cure that.
Aha! An interesting HBO film of a fascinating lady — Temple Grandin. Shall watch out for it. And played by Claire Danes, too (very much enjoyed in "Stardust"). Should be cool. Now, about those clothes...
So far, so dry
It's 14:16 and the rain stayed nicely away for the entire walk. Next item is a spot of lunch, judging by the current lightheadedness — and, of course, another cuppa. I was delighted to get an email from yesterday's ex-colleague though (I gather) he's out of the habit of checking as it reminds him too much of IBM. Couldn't possibly comment.
We've also decided on at least one of the upcoming video treats for this evening. Having both enjoyed the new "Star Trek" we thought it's about time we caught up with the original movie again. Hard to believe that's from 1979; (I think Mike secretly quite fancies the late Persis Khambatta.) It's directed by the chap who made the 1951 original version of "The Day the Earth stood still". Not to mention the 1971 "Andromeda Strain". Crikey, I hadn't realised he also worked as an editor on "Citizen Kane". Good ol' IMDB.
One is never too old...
... to try something new. Thanks, Mr Postie. Though (in this case) I suspect Christa got there long before we ever met. I shall report in due course... if I survive the trip:
Irritatingly, Christa doesn't seem to be around for me to ask her to explain why Wikipedia characterises the author as a Nazi despite the fact that he died in 1811. Odd. I was led to him by the essay here, by the way.
Trouble (internally) at the top
While listening to somewhat itchy tales of human parasites (for example, some 20% of the population are carrying around a charmless protozoan yclept Toxoplasma gondii) I'm also browsing around the edge of that weird story about bullies at the top of our political pole:
Jim Callaghan was often labelled a "thug" and "bully", but he mellowed in No 10 into genial "Sunny Jim". Margaret Thatcher, too, was kind to staff, but brutal to colleagues. When the waitress tipped hot soup on Geoffrey Howe's lap, she was very solicitous — to the waitress. Tony Blair had public-school manners, and as for Gordon Brown, well, we know about him...
And the PM on the receiving end? Harold Wilson was a master of politics but relentlessly browbeaten by his political secretary, Marcia Williams, now Lady Falkender. Waiting to see Wilson, the Guardian's Ian Aitken once asked a Commons copper to make sure the PM wasn't being murdered. It turned out to be only Marcia speaking her mind.
More here. Mr Rawnsley defending his conclusions, basically. So is the prime minister lying, or is Rawnsley wrong? "We're now on the fourth different denial from No 10 in four days. Unlike them, I don't scream 'liar' at everyone who disagrees with me..." Oh dear.
Having listened in growing — horrified — fascination, I think I prefer those parasites that stay on the skin rather than those that go burrowing around internally. What a piece of intelligent design. Here are two of my accounts of the former :-)
I wouldn't be surprised if young Brack can regale me with tales of sheepish horrors, while Big Bro is probably au fait with the beefier varieties.
All that I've been hearing about the Mid Staffordshire NHS Trust is painting a grim picture, though what I've also been reading in "Private Eye" over many months about the ever-growing numbers of admin and management staff in the NHS seems to be a classic illustration of Parkinson's Law in action. The allegation that hospital receptionists carried out initial patient triage is mind-blowing.