2010 — 22 December: Wednesday
Overnight subconscious processing1 has left me wondering about a couple of (relatively) minor plot wrinkles in last night's film, but no fatal flaws. The only real irritant is that I will also now be buying it on Blu-ray as parts of it are spectacularly detailed.
A mere -1C at 09:27 seems almost Spring-like and (of course) we're now past the shortest day, too. But the Midlands as my Xmas destination is still looking rather flaky (as it were). Time for breakfast.
Poverty
Reading one of the comments attached to a piece in today's Guardian by Arianna Huffington on Mr Facebook's donation of $100,000,000 to the Newark school system offers a timely reminder of this oh-so-human reaction:
Attributed to the late Bishop Hélder Câmara.
On a lighter note, I've had to tune away from the normally reliable "Woman's Hour" as they dived into an earnest discussion of some stupid "celebrity" TV dance show. Actually, on leafing though the most recent "Sunday Times Culture" magazine — Mike passes these along to me (as he puts it) so they can line my recycle bin rather than his — I noted the list of Top 20 TV programmes, by audience.
Is it any wonder I've basically given up on broadcast TV? Though I did watch the three episodes of "Sherlock", of which the first was markedly the best.
Vanilla kipferl à la Grandma
Never heard of these, but the MD of the Berlin company that supplied my defrag software has just sent me the recipe. The nearest Christa got to special Xmas baking were the almond and cinnamon "roses" that Mutti used to make. Many years ago, of course.
Not being a card-sending sort of chap these days, I shall make a start instead on some Xmas emails. What on earth have I been up to this year?!
If you look after the pennies... dept.
Expensive plastic cards! The guvmint says "The Identity Card Scheme and associated work around biometrics has already cost the taxpayer £292 million. It will stop planned future investment in the scheme of £835 million." (Source.)
Given that 30,000 or so clueless citizens subjects chose to cough up their £30 each, I make that £9,733 or so per card. Or nearly nine weeks of fees for dear Mama's care home. Crikey.
Back when the Earth was young...
... and men rode on dinosaurs in the Garden of Eden, as our Creationist chums would have us believe, I used to think I was a good (or, at least, a competent) writer. But it's such hard work virtually penning a few appropriate lines to various chums that I've torn myself away to do the dishes, having noticed it's now 15:13 (and still a balmy -1C outside, too).
Somewhat to my surprise, I not only persevered with "The Historian" (that book by Elizabeth Kostova that young Mr Waterstone's urged me to try) but ended up enjoying it. I still don't think I shall revisit Bram Stoker's "Dracula" however. It's now 18:59 and time to make my evening meal.
Next time I look up, as it were, it's 22:17 and I'm left wondering vaguely how does that happen? I've been sending out an (I hope) enjoyable series of emails to a variety of "auld" and/or lost or mislaid acquaintances, some of whom2 have even replied :-)
Smoking
I shall sleep tight tonight, methinks. I've just cracked open a bottle of smoky 10 year old Laphroaig given to me a year ago by my main co-pilot. Cheers, Peter! It's 23:55 and I think I'll call it a night(cap). G'night.