2010 — 31 October: Sunday
If the current position of the bright spot1 in the sky over my back garden is to be believed, not to mention the readout on at least one of my semi-intelligent bits of A/V kit (I discount this lying PC), then not only have the clocks changed, but it's now very much time for breakfast. Busy, busy. I've scanned my way through all the CDs within easy reach and now need to tackle some of the caches up in the loft. I also need to try to turn Peter's room back into a habitable bedroom just for tonight as I'm putting his partner up overnight to ease the logistics of her getting from "A" to "C" via "B" ("B" being me) in time for some ungodly early meeting at "C" tomorrow morning.
I have no idea where "C" is, by the way. Peter may have mentioned it but I failed to process that datum. Any way, I'm off to dunk a teabag and butter a croissant. It purports to be 09:00.
Gasp! [Pause to catch breath.] One day, somebody smarter than me will have to explain to me exactly why I bought so many CDs over the years. I must've been mad. Still, I now have another three five cartons2 safely relocated to the living room for "processing". Let the scanning recommence. But not before my next cuppa, if you please. It's 10:36 and still solidly cloudy out there.
BBC 6Music seems to be running with the Halloween theme throughout the day... when did Halloween become such a big thing here in the UK? I must have missed that memo.
Taxation
I'm on the last stretch of "Whoops!" by John Lanchester. Even just the chapter "Funny smells" (which I enjoyed in my bath this morning) should be required reading among our financial services regulators. If they can't understand it, they should seek different employment. "In the words of an American university provost: I have an entire department of economists who can provide a brilliant ex post facto explanation of what happened — and not a single one of them saw it coming in advance." Meanwhile, David Mitchell is sounding off about our Chancellor. Though he makes some good points (as do some of the people commenting) to be honest (given some of the recent spam email I've received) he already had me with his hilarious opening. Source and snippet:
Last week I received an email from an organisation called 38 Degrees... I delete the unsolicited ones. I'll never be the massive-penised, permanently erect, luxury watch owner with a PhD from the University of Pretend that these organisations seem to want. 38 Degrees wasn't offering "prescription meds", a chance to share my bank details with someone who doesn't understand grammar or even 38 qualifications by correspondence course, so I read on. I wish I hadn't.
Terrorism
Our Home Secretary (when not tackling the frightful problem of rogue car clamping in the town centre of her home constituency) tells me:
At this stage, we have no information to indicate another attack is imminent.
The threat level is already at severe, meaning that a terrorist attack in this country is highly likely. We do not plan to change that threat level at this stage.
Now we must take further precautionary measures.
Should I be worried? Not if my third "T" is another cuppa! [Pause] And what finer liquid accompaniment, post-lunch, to the second album from "Imagined Village"? It's 14:16 and both cool and drizzly out there... but not in here.
Thermodynamics
Fingers crossed. My random prodding of the buttons on the central heating controls seems to have persuaded it to stay on, and I shall now rely on the thermostatic valves all over the house to stop meltdown, as it were. (Peter's g/f is, I've been warned, sensitive to temperature.) Besides, it saves trying to fiddle with the timer. I wonder how the manual has managed to escape quite so soon in our relationship.
Oops. No heat needed until tomorrow evening. She's driving down here after her French class up in London, and that ends at 9 pm. No matter. It seems I also failed to get the memo about Halloween nowadays being a time for fireworks. Am I turning into a curmudgeon? Do I even know what a curmudgeon is? Well, yes:
Nature, having failed to equip them with a servicable denial mechanism, has endowed them with astute perception and sly wit. Curmudgeons are mockers and debunkers whose bitterness is a symptom rather than a disease. They can't compromise their standards and can't manage the suspension of disbelief necessary for feigned cheerfulness. Their awareness is a curse... They not only refuse to applaud mediocrity, they howl it down with morose glee.
It's "only" 22:53 but I'm drooping, so I'm off for some sleep. G'night.