2010 — 1 November: Monday — rabbits!
A burst of a Bach violin concerto and a cuppa. Is there a better start to a grey November1 morning? It's 08:11 and there's some supplies shopping to be done, sooner rather than later (judging by the clouds out there).
I do try to keep vaguely on top of modern terminology. Clever euphemisms can be as amusing as esoteric technical jargon, after all. This was a new one to me:
A bucket of instant sunshine
Term used by UK fighter pilots to describe a nuclear payload
Now there's a phrase to brighten up a dull morning and discomfort your enemies. While bringing them democracy, particularly.
Tea bag politics and coded protests
Shopped and breakfasted, in that order, what else catches my eye this (now) slightly brighter morning? Well, there are many fantastic signs and slogans on display here. So I've chosen #7, as it tickled me immoderately:
I notice it also provoked the following sardonic comment on its flickr page:
Sorry, but this method isn't likely to work, assuming it's in a language like Java with checked exceptions. The second call to fixCountrysProblems() can still throw another PartisanException, which won't be caught. In general, it's impossible to attempt to fix the country's problems without considering the possibility of partisan politics getting in the way.
Sad but true. It's 10:07 and the next slew of tasks beckons for my attention. For example, is it worth emailing Staples one last time to say I'll now leave their broken bits of bookcases outside?
Why is it that, while I listen to Jean Michel Jarre's "Oxygene 7 to 13", I find myself irresistibly reminded of themes from the films "Bladerunner" and "The Bourne Identity"? A matter to ponder over lunch — I'll be whisking my main co-pilot down to one of our favourite watering holes to see if the Isle of Wight is still in situ. Report to follow.
"Discretion" being, as the poet2 says, "the better part of Valerie", we considered the time and distance constraints and opted instead for the more local "Bridge" at Shawford to renew our acquaintance there with their delicious bangers and mash. Good choice. My next jolly jaunt will be over to Roger & Eileen in hopes of blagging the delayed cuppa from last week. I'm a cheeky sod.
It's 15:02, the sky is relatively cloudless, the leaves are thundering down out of the trees, the barometer has climbed back up, and I've spent the last few minutes going squiffy-eyed tinkering with the pixels on my scan of the Matrix soundtrack CD while listening (after too long a time) to the 1995 "Passengers: Original soundtracks #1" CD that is a U2 album in all but name. (The one with Pavarotti guesting on the "Miss Sarajevo" track.) It's entirely possible I'm mad...
Summoned by...
... the microwave's "pinger" from chapter one of the first volume of Neil Gaiman's superb "Sandman" to my piping hot evening meal, I shall now indulge myself with another episode of "Boston Legal" before working out what to do with the rest of the now-undisturbed evening ahead. It's 19:24 and Peter's g/f was told, quite late in the day, that the date of the event she was attending has been postponed, and I therefore tidied up Peter's room for her (not to mention access to it) to no avail. No matter.
My conversation with Roger touched on a wonderful little satire he was unfamiliar with. The Microcosmographia Academica, which is now in the public domain. I bought my copy in August 1995 (in Oxford, ironically) when we took Carol there for a day of sight-seeing. Alas, I was already too old to benefit fully (if at all) from its embedded wisdom. Sample:
The Principle of the Dangerous Precedent is that you should not now do an admittedly right action for fear you, or your equally timid successors, should not have the courage to do right in some future case, which, ex hypothesi, is essentially different, but superficially resembles the present one. Every public action which is not customary, either is wrong, or, if it is right, is a dangerous precedent. It follows that nothing should ever be done for the first time.
An argument that has clearly been fully absorbed by Sir Humphrey Appleby.
It's only 22:20 but I'm clearly still under the influence of the reversion to GMT (or whatever it's called, these days). I'm therefore calling it a day. G'night.