2010 — 27 November: Saturday
I wonder1 just how often I've heard the Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack" over the last 46 years or so. Brian Matthew's programme has just incremented the count. It's 08:37 and not quite as frosty as yesterday, but depressingly grey. [Pause] An hour later, necessaries gathered in and exponentially increasing traffic flow noted, I can relax, make some breakfast, and listen to the lament "Doesn't anybody make short movies anymore?" A new one on me, but a sentiment I can relate to. [Pause] And an hour later it's time to start stuffing my next crockpot. A chap needs his hot, tasty, nutritious evening meals in this ghastly weather.
I note yesterday's flood of spam email has twindled to less than a trickle. I have a long overdue date with some database software on the cards for today. And it's time to think of migrating some data over to BlackBeast, too.
Thanks, Mr Postie...
... though delivering a card inviting me to trot along to your depot to pick up the next accumulated batch of snailmail to dear Mama's house in Wombourne isn't very helpful when it arrives an hour after you've closed said depot until Monday, is it? (Her neighbour regularly sticks a "First" stamp on an A4 envelope, and I invariably pay 70p unpaid postage plus 100p handling fee. Nice little scam.) Still, now that I've registered the Power of Attorney I can actually set up a proper snailmail redirection. Deep joy.
It's 13:04 and (already) the fumes from the crockpot are making my mouth water! Alas, I shall have to wait for the evening. But that's no reason not to have a cuppa :-)
I'm almost ashamed to confess how much fun I'm currently having unearthing all sorts of stuff from the dustier subfolders of one of my older PCs. And Mr Amazon (a young black gentleman who addresses me as "Boss") has just delivered the beautiful Alasdair Gray book I spotted in Soton on Thursday. Magic! Time (13:50) to chomp my salad and chicken leg. 'Scuse I.
After lunch, and perusing the goodies, all I'll say is I find his style, while obviously influenced by Eric Gill, to be utterly beguiling in its own right. The book is sumptuously produced and makes for an elegant confection. I know my ex-ICL chum Ian over in Bordon would also get a kick out of it so I shall take it along on my next day trip. But not if the promised snow shows up as he lives at the foot of a nasty hill. Not that I can ever find it without my dominatrix riding shotgun in her little box. It's 15:37 and I predict a fresh cuppa in my near future. It's also showing horrid signs of getting dark out there. The distant howling is either PlanetRock or a small pack of wolves coming down from the hills. Brrr.
Rather later
I thought this was agreeably zany. The Algol60 variant made me shudder. That was my first programming language back in 1969. Horrid.
Visitors tomorrow mean I'd better do a spot of tidying up tonight, methinks. Even if it is 23:02 already. No rest for the wicked this wickend...