2010 — 14 December: Tuesday
It's only 08:33 and I'm already champing at the bit.1 I'm also starving hungry, which is not my usual breakfast time sensation. Could last night's nightcap have been an inadvertent appetiser? :-)
Now I really am hungry, having just spent 40 minutes out in the garage dismantling as many of my book cartons as I can before hefting them round either to the shed or the local tip. The car is now warmer than I am as I left it running while I sliced and folded. It's about +3C out there but since I can no longer feel my fingers I thought it better to stop using a scalpel and come back in to warm up. Come on Mr TNT van man. Get a move on.
BBC Radio 3's sickly version of Tomaso Albinoni's Adagio has driven me out into the kitchen to wreak havoc among my veggies for my next crockpot concoction. It's 11:04 and I'm feeling grouchy. I've just bitten the head off an irritating cold-caller from the Indian subcontinent. I don't know what he was selling, and I don't care. When the pitch begins as a "survey", and the English is that poor, they can go and bother somebody else.
I'm no more paranoid...
... than the next clueless citizen / subject, but I agree, totally, with what Richard Stallman is saying here. My data is staying in my house, behind my firewall, locked away behind stealthed ports. I trust any guvmint rather less far than I can pee into the teeth of a howling gale. And I'm not even a crook :-)
Result!
Exerting all my powers of diplomacy and charm I managed to persuade the terribly nice chap in the TNT van to take away four of the five packages of broken bits. He balked (for 'elf'n'safety reasons) at the fifth which, I admit, was the least well-wrapped. Still, it was wrapped in one of the plastic bags that Staples had sent for the specific purpose, so what could I say? Off to the tip I go, therefore. Before it gets dark. It's 13:57 and I almost feel like dancing a jig!
Busy, busy, and...
... next thing you know, it's 23:27 and the eyelids are showing symptoms of super glue. G'night.