2011 — 3 January: Monday
I got back about 30 minutes ago,1 calling it a night after just one film because, frankly, we couldn't think of another title as a suitable follow-on after the 2006 film "Bobby". It was stunningly good even though (as with Apollo 13, which I still refuse to watch) you already know — basically — exactly what's going to happen. 42 years ago... incredible.
So, do the dishes, empty the washing machine, and order my own copy. Done. Time for some sleep. G'night.
Semi-hibernation mode
It's 10:21 and the slow process of restoring full consciousness this morning (if I ever attain such a state — some would say it's a debatable proposition) has just been assisted by my first cuppa. Horribly grey out there, and Mr BBC suggested a "high" of "3" in Southampton, so that's something to look forward to, isn't it? I shall give the car its final pre-VAT increase drink, assuming anywhere is open, in readiness for a New Year that I have no doubt will be simply stuffed with excitement and a series of outdoor adventures2 :-)
Wikipedia tells me "Scientists have shown that physical activity in the form of voluntary exercise results in an increase in the number of newborn neurons in the hippocampus of aging mice." I ought to be able to manage something an elderly mouse can do, don'tcha think? Or I could try cannabis, it seems. (Source.)
Poor me
Alas, the local Shell garage3 was so busy I would have had to queue in the road (and I hate it when other motorists do that) so I powered on down the road to a deserted Picador, only to find some Xeroxed sheet doubtless seeking to justify their premature price increase. I couldn't be bothered to try Asda so I paid their 126.9 pence per litre, recalling as I did so an ICL colleague ranting back in the Winter of Discontent in Slough in 1978/9 about the way garages had hiked their prices up to 125 pence per gallon.
Back when I thought these things mattered (they don't) and guvmints told the truth (they don't) I used to track inflation and pay rates. It's a wry thought that my ICL salary then (excluding my healthy freelance programming income, of course) was half my IBM pension now. Whether I am in any sense better off now after making the fictional fudge factor adjustments of various guvmint inflation indices is an imponderable I refuse to ponder. My economic life in genteel retirement is both time-rich and cash-poor, but I now stick to the Wilkins Micawber principle of domestic economy :-)
I shall now go and wrestle a lump of cheese from a mouse-trap and see if I can find a stale crust to accompany it. It's 12:43 and a diet of continual Mozart on BBC Radio 3 is keeping the soul nourished. Whether the soul needs 12 days of such nutriment is another matter.
Pottering quietly along...
... next thing I know it's time for my evening meal. My, how the time flows along. I've now watched "Smart People" and found much to admire, in what was a directorial début. I correctly guessed that the cast would work very well together (my reason for buying it in the absence of knowing anything else about it). Though I don't know what "Cosmopolitan" found in it to describe it as "quirky" — unless it was the somewhat disparaging reference to that fine magazine itself at one point in the dialogue. And, as I find myself doing increasingly often, I played the DVD with subtitles on.
My hearing is still pretty good, but I'm getting increasingly fed up with the naturalistically recorded sound that, when combined with the modern tendency toward mumbling, too often means I find myself having to pause the player and rewind4 a little just to decipher the words. Very annoying.
It's been suggested that audiences in general hate subtitles. I love them. I read quickly enough (I suspect) that they've never bothered me. Besides, Christa often requested them (never once for German soundtracks, mind you) for much the same reason.
A mere three mouse clicks...
... from the IMDB entry for "Smart People" lurks this gorgeous young Canadian lady. Someone I don't know, in a film directed by someone I don't know, based on a book written by a Canadian lady who died in 1987 (and whom I don't know). But I do know that Ms Gorgeous...
... (actually, Christine Horne) who is younger than my son, is absurdly gorgeous. <Sigh!> And "Smart People" also has Christine Lahti in it (she directed "My First Mister" which very few people appear to have seen or heard of). IMDB is a wonderful time-waster. [Pause] And I can now report that "Quo Vadis, Baby?" is also an excellent film noir. Meanwhile, I've lent "Mediterraneo" (a third film by this Gabriele Salvatores chap) to Mike and await his verdict — we were too tired to watch it last night.
Having just (21:28) been out to the garage to take and email gas and electricity meter readings to my new (and, I hope, cheaper) supplier, I can further report that +2C feels jolly cold when you step away from my cosy living room. Must be time for my next cuppa.