2010 — 13 June: Sunday

Unrelated — I hope — to my latest little leakage has come a set of four pictures of Big Bro's rather larger scale leakages from his artificial lakes down on the farm. I haven't a clue what a swale is, but here's the view from it:


I note his ponds are bigger1 and his stormy skies stormier. Remind me why I would go there?! This time, by the way, I really will stuff my next crockpot. I somehow never got around to it yesterday. G'night, at 01:25 or so in the Old Country.

And off we go again

In no particular order: breakfast, crockpot, cartons, furniture. Is this the Life, heh? Still, the "Trout" is tinkling away to keep me going. [Pause] And a cuppa, of course. Can't do nuffin' wivout a cuppa... It's 09:25, quite bright, pleasant breeze, and the drip tray was about one third full overnight. I shall be able to tease the plumber something rotten, but may restrain myself.

Graphic novels

I've been a comics fan for many years, outing myself here and elsewhere, too. (If you take those links you'll see that classification is an inexact science.) My earliest "grown up" variant of the graphic novel subspecies was probably the copy of Jean-Claude Forest's "Barbarella" I bought over 40 years ago. So I have to smile (with an appropriately superior, world-weary air) on reading Rachel Cooke's piece in belated praise. I hadn't heard John Updike's 1969 remark however. As she says... better late than never. Source and snippet:

After this,2 there was no stopping me... I read all the greats: Robert Crumb, of course, and then, in no particular order: Joe Matt, Seth, Daniel Clowes, Alan Moore, Adrian Tomine, Craig Thompson... oh yes, and Charles Burns (I absolutely adore Black Hole a dystopian thriller set in 1970s Seattle, in which the city's teenagers are stalked by a sexually transmitted plague). I was in heaven! On a blog somewhere, a comic fan attacked me for being a Johnny-come-lately. But what I say is: better late than never. It's like Marjane Satrapi, who only came to comics herself at the age of 25, once said: "It's like opera: you have to go a couple of times to appreciate it."

Rachel Cooke in The Guardian

I remain unconvinced about opera, however. A little Wagner goes a very very long way. Right! Crockpot here I come.


Having completed a supplies run, I think my next task will be to go off the air while I relocate PC-type things3 up here out of the plumber's way and move a bunch of stuff from Peter's room down to the garage. I also have to do something about Christa's desk, and the cannibalised remains of her own PC. Plus the two redundant servers. Flippin' heck. It's 13:12 and quite warm. There's also lunch to be thought about, if only dismissively. Tonight I feast on crockpot.

Some hours later...

... after a disagreeable amount of dust and a certain amount of sweat (there may even have been a smidgin of cursing, too) number #1 PC is up and running down in the living room and this update (at 17:48) can be taken as evidence of this. It seems there has been a fire in Leigh road, in the vicinity of the old Pirelli factory. I've not yet had a chance to investigate further.

I hesitate to calculate how much dust I've transferred hereabouts from the house to the dust bin, not least because human skin is a major component of the stuff — a thought I'd really prefer to leave unthought. It's 21:31 and the crockpot was delicious. I've nearly cleared three of the four bedrooms for Brian's access. Peter's room is currently defeating me, so I shall finish chilling down the rest of the crockpot, make myself a cuppa, and contemplate my next move. The upstairs sound system is in bits, with the speakers tucked safely away, vulnerable cones to the wall. Both HP media PCs are now off the air, and I've "repurposed" the iMac's network cable for the Gateway down here in the living4 room. The iMac's wireless capabilities are more than adequate if need be.



1  His attachment file sizes are a heck of a lot meatier since he got a broadband connection too. This photo came in at 3504 x 2336 pixels and 3.60MB before I trimmed it down to a mere 100KB for the web. Gawd knows what his non-broadbanded brother-in-law in High Wycombe will say.
2  "This" being Alison Bechdel's simply brilliant memoir "Fun home".
3  Fingers crossed that it will all work again afterwards.
4  Why's it called a "living" room (or "lounge" when I were a lad)? They're all living rooms; some are just more congenial than others.