2010 — 16 June: Wednesday
Before you know it, midnight sneaks up on you once again.
An update, of sorts, regarding dear Mama. She's now in hospital. The team there will doubtless consider her ability to survive discharge in due course, and her next destination. She has, it seems, a bronchial infection, as an emergency prescription had been delivered to her house... a doctor must therefore have been involved at some point. She is at least mildly incontinent, has essentially no idea where she is, who she is, what day of the week it is. Rationally, I say to myself that her being under direct medical supervision is the best of a series of frankly lousy options. While I'm willing to go up there, there seems little point in terms of any practical use to be got from my presence.
Just don't talk to me about "intelligent design". I'm too tired to argue. G'night.
There's much more...
... to the inventor of the "Dilbert" cartoon strip1 than meets the eye. Proof. But first, time (08:15) for some breakfast and (another) cuppa.
Had a call from an occupational therapy nurse wanting to assess dear Mama's "survival in the home" capabilities at some point today. They don't seem to have access to the assessment made in January. She's currently in a short stay ward in Russell's Hall hospital (not that I know where that is). Since she's house-bound and her short term memory is a thing of the fairly distant past, personally I would assess her capabilities as pretty low. But (of course) whenever the topic of home care or residential care has been raised, it's been quickly shot down in paranoid angry flames. I did what I could to answer the questions. We shall see what the latest assessment comes up with.
When Brian arrived we exchanged mutual "mothers in hospital" notes over a cuppa. [Pause] Today's the day I essentially lose my bathroom for a bit. The deal is Brian aims always to leave his victims with, at a minimum, cold water capability at the end of each day's work. However, the atomic transaction that is involved in ripping out the hot and cold tanks and their associated pipework2 is the nearest we get — I suspect — to a potential deal breaker. Has to be done, but (as Macbeth says, in a rather different context3) 'twere well it were done quickly. Not that I'm expecting any assassination to be necessary.
Crikey, it's already 10:07 and supplies are running a bit low...
My next issue of...
... The Word has been snaffled off the shelf. The fact that I hadn't finished reading last month's is some indication of the degree of distraction here in Technology Towers. I can also see two issues of "Radio Times" each open at a different day. Another indication.
It's glorious sunny, breezy weather out there. Roger was just backing out of his adjacent Waitrose slot as I got back to my car but he looked intent, so I didn't say anything. I don't want to be biffed by his brand new Volvo. It's 12:38 and the plumber has departed to chase up the one remaining radiator (we'd hoped to be able to re-use the most recently-fitted one from the bathroom, but a) it, too, disgorged black treacle during attempts to flush it, and b) you could hear metallic grit rattling around inside it, which would not get the new pump in the new boiler off to a good start).
Unless dramatic signals...
... from the Midlands come in, and lunch having been lunched, I shall whizz out with my main co-pilot for a cuppa somewhere salubrious later this afternoon. The weather is far too good to waste sitting around like a broody hen. (Not that I've ever seen one.)
This looks mighty cool. I would have been even more tickled to see them using ARM chips.
Bondage doesn't hurt...
... when ERNIE does it. I'd forgotten to check earlier this month, so today's snailmail delivery of four £25 prizes went down very nicely. In fact, I've just nipped out to pay them into my account before it's bone dry.
How deprived am I?
Not very, according to the guvmint. I was looking for the next "glass collection" day for my address (this Friday, it seems) but stumbled down the rabbithole of the Neighbourhood stats link from the Orifice for such things on a national level...
All you need is your (UK) post code, and away you too can float.
What do you alieve in?
A new word! I love it when that happens. Source and snippet:
Our main leisure activity is, by a long shot, participating in experiences that we know are not real... This is a strange way for an animal to spend its days. Surely we would be better off pursuing more adaptive activities — eating and drinking and fornicating, establishing relationships, building shelter, and teaching our children... One psychologist gets the puzzle exactly right when she states on her Web site: "I am interested in when and why individuals might choose to watch the television show Friends rather than spending time with actual friends."
It's 17:36 and I'm starting to feel peckish. Still fabulous weather, though quite blowy. The house, minus functional bathroom, is once again mine for the evening. There is going to be a mammoth amount of clearing-up and decorating after he's finished, but I can't say I wasn't warned. I may even have to buy a paint brush. And some Polyfilla. <Sigh>