2011 — 4 March: Friday
Quite how it can already be Friday1 I simply do not understand, but it's now 00:58 and "Late Junction" is winding gently down. As am I.
G'night.
Rather the rather dreary...
... cello music by Schumann than the speech alternative I rapidly tuned away from. (I caught only the fragment "as a man with faith I know..." to know that — as a man without faith — it was probably not going to please me to hear him finish his sentence).
My personal road to Hell was paved, this morning, with the good intention of getting to my little grocery superstore as soon as it opened its doors, so that's another PBC blown. (See yesterday.) However, too much interesting email has detained me until it's now "hungry time" (09:20) and, besides, the frost is busily melting itself off the car. I hope. Brrr. I also (yet again) missed the glass recycling collection chaps but as my current score is two bottles and two jam jars I won't worry yet.
I check in...
... from time to time at the Jargon File maintained by Eric Raymond. (It always bemuses me that, no matter what web browser I use during my visits, or what platform it's running on, I never see some of the page characters correctly displayed. I'll never be a hacker.)
Hackers are often monumentally disorganized and sloppy about dealing with the physical world. Bills don't get paid on time, clutter piles up to incredible heights in homes and offices, and minor maintenance tasks get deferred indefinitely.
Really? Define "incredible".
Today's slightly late (12:21) "lemonses" — only after doing my supplies run — is to the (tasty) musical accompaniment of "Psychedelia at Abbey Road" and consists of an equally tasty pair of dunked ginger nuts. How many bonus-driven millionaire City workers really do significantly better than that, I wonder?
Courting trouble...
... or why I rarely use my mobile phone. There are some interesting convolutions at play here. Even harking back to the broad farce that was the "Spycatcher" case. I still remember buying my paperback copy of that boring book...
Simultaneously, Mrs Thatcher (a noted prude, since there are votes in it, and yet a lady who knowingly surrounds herself with adulterers and worse in her government cabinet, and a lady who has taken to marching into the yes lobby when the Commons debates bringing back capital punishment, since there are votes in that, too) warned the media folk that if they couldn't guarantee clean, wholesome (specifically, non-pornographic, non-violent) TV for the kiddywinks (children of the voters) she (the UK government) would legislate accordingly.
Yet Murdoch's undeniable business success and acumen is the antithesis of anathema (sorry, Carol, but le mot juste escapes me right now!) to her. Funny world, isn't it?
It's all symptomatic of the irritating Nanny knows best, dear attitude that prevails here. I suppose it's the same attitude that tried to stop me reading Spycatcher. (I finally bought a paperback copy from a left-wing bookshop in Southampton only last week.) Report to follow!
Time for a spot of lunch, methinks. The sun is shining nicely out there. [Pause] Then, before you know it, it's 17:58, I'm back from a cheeky blagged cuppa and biccie with Roger and Eileen, and it's time to start putting lights on, drawing curtains, closing blinds, and maybe even contemplating an evening meal. Wonder if I'll remember to listen to the "News Quiz" tonight... assuming it's still on. First, there should be a BBC 5 Mark Kermode film podcast to catch up with. Ace.
75 years?
I wonder if Big Bro knows about this little event tomorrow.