2010 — 25 July: Sunday
A while back, I mentioned the expensive electric typewriter I bought for Christa in late 1979. One of the best investments I ever made, frankly, given our joint freelance work. Guess what I found when going through that most recent box of archived snail mail?
Yes, she even kept the little message I'd left on it for her to find when it arrived. ("Chicken-pie" was my response to being called "plum pudding" but nobody need ever know that.)
It's 08:44 and the first cuppa has been paving the way for breakfast, accompanied by this new DJ Jo Good, who is playing some great stuff. I shall make a point of tuning in on those rare occasions when I'm awake this early(!) on a Sunday morning.
Not long before I shall prepare for today's healthy stroll. I have much accumulated nonsense to mention1 to Mike. It's too early at this point to do any further supplies shopping, so that will have to wait for the afternoon. It looks somewhat grey and cloud-covered out there but feels as if it will stay dry. The barometer is still pretty high.
If, as threatened, a Tory MP refuses to meet constituents wearing face-covering veils he could be charged under a breach of "equality" legislation. Exactly what is Liberty protecting here, I mildly wonder? And does it mean I can dig out my "Lone Ranger" mask for wearing in public? (No, I don't think I still have it!) Nice piece of urine-removal here. On a peripherally-related topic, this is pretty neat, too.
Splashing sounds
The outer integuments are in the washing machine, the skin has been showered, it's 12:59 and I've just been listening to the chap who used to be known as Cat Stevens explaining the story of "Moonshadow". Lunch next, I think, followed by the checklist of stuff I need ready for tomorrow's drive back to the Midlands. Busy chap.
I now know that last week's flora was a stage of cow parsley (at least, I think that's what it's called). It was almost the first thing I spotted as we were about to cross the motorway on the footbridge this morning.
Red spy at night
Meanwhile, my lunch is now being accompanied by the interesting stuff finally crawling into the daylight about the successful penetration by the Soviets of the U.S. communist party and, indeed, various parts of the U.S. guvmint. The idea that Joseph McCarthy was perhaps less paranoid than he seemed is, at this remove, a rather wry one.
Supplies gathered in, I've been pottering along, listening (latterly) to Jarvis Cocker, live from a festival in Cornwall. There are small bits of blue sky, plenty of clouds, and it still feels quite warm and humid. Last time I tried the BBC web site it was plastered with "No information available" stickers. Most odd. It's 17:14, somehow. [Pause] And now it's slipped on to 19:27 and time for an evening bite, I suspect. How very tedious!
Bah, humbug
The cinnamon flatbreads I bought this afternoon turned out, on inspection, to be almond. I've spent a lifetime picking bits of almond off Danish pastries and the like. Turns out I needn't have bothered — they're nice. Still, at least I enjoyed the new BBC TV Sherlock.
Time for sleep. G'night.