2010 — 7 April: Wednesday
The prospect of rain has persuaded us to delay our next walk for 24 hours, so I expect it will be blazing sunshine later today. But that's a matter for the morrow; I'm off to bed.
G'night.
Woken...
... by the sound of pothole repairs more or less outside my front window. No matter. It's now 09:54 and — guess what? — the initial cuppa is just about brewed to perfection, the initial Su Doku is done, and it's cool enough to merit getting dressed, preferably before any supplies shopping. Though that brings me back to the pothole chaps, who are currently trapping me here. I can wait.
This looks promising. (I think of her as a female Fred Hoyle.) Let's hope it's not too dumbed-down, though it has to be better than any of the pre-election shouty rubbish... But this demographic trend is far from amusing:
... the birth rate of secular people in the West is way below replacement level (2.1), and the birth rate of religious fundamentalists of practically any stripe is far above (roughly between 5 and 7.7 children per mother)...
Recall that Cyril Kornbluth story I mentioned in a similar context a while ago.
Compare and contrast
I've finally managed to balance a Dan Quayle quote with one from the lady who was recently hoping to have that job herself. The order of the universe is restored. Meanwhile (10:46) the tarmac machinations continue.
Just invited Big Bro to comment1 on this. Should be good for his blood pressure.
I can't imagine anyone finding much of interest in my web browsing history, and I shall be mildly annoyed if I have to tinker with my CSS again. (More here and here.)
"Wormable" PDFs. Whatever next? (Source.)
How about lunch? It's 12:54 and I'm feeling peckish. And I'm still more or less hemmed in by Mr Tarmac and his merry crew, too. Good job I'm in no hurry to go dashing hither and yon.
Having made...
... my Great Escape to restock the emptier bits of the fridge and fruit shelf, and greeted Rod P in Waitrose, I have in mind a small expotition in search of the elusive perfect cuppa, if I can persuade my main co-pilot to accompany me. But I must first zap and drink the cup I neglected at lunch. Tut, tut. Followed (shortly) by toot, toot.
I wonder if the ghastly Roy Cohn ever realised he'd end up in an opera?
Still daylight (at 19:18) and still the heavy dark clouds have yet to dump their rain hereabouts. We could probably have walked after all.
This is ridiculously enjoyable.