2011 — 6 March: Sunday

As "Poetry Please" winds down and that nice Mr McGough packs us off up the stairs to Bedfordshire the weather forecast1 is holding out the strong possibility of a walk later today. But not before some sleep.


Big Bro...

... has a network (worldwide) of similarly aviation-obsessed (trust me) chums, one of whom has emailed around a couple of beautiful Spitfire pictures far superior to the gallery the BBC managed — given yesterday's 10/10ths gloomy cloud cover that isn't too surprising.

It's a little brighter this morning, so we're going to venture out for some fresh air on a compromise local loop, saving some limb energy for a longer stroll on Tuesday. I'm therefore throwing in a dollop of hasty breakfast. It's 09:25 and (I've been warned) "cold out there".

Hard to dispute this:

Every time I read a paper, go online, turn on the television, trying desperately to forage for real news, there's a terrifying number of column inches and broadcast hours spent on celebrities who, the more I looked into it, have no discernible skill, wit, talent, no anything, and yet they've been elevated to celebrityhood.

Carl Hiaasen in The Observer

"But" say the Rupert Murdochs of this world "we're only giving people what they want."

Back from a very pleasant 6.5 mile stroll, and waiting for the cuppa to brew, it's also hard to dispute this, too:

Gender-based violence causes more deaths and disabilities among women aged 15 to 44 than cancer, malaria, traffic accidents and war. Basically it's safer to spend Friday nights chain smoking on the M1 with a bag of Congolese mosquitoes, in fog, than to be a woman in large swathes of the world.

Mariella Frostrup in The Observer

My friend Val, over in Sweden, has a theory:

You wonder why women let men run the shop. Two simple reasons:
a) men are physically stronger, and
b) women have kids, which makes them even more weak and vulnerable.
When populations are low (think Boudicca's times) and resources
plentiful, it's accepted for women to be in charge. As soon as
resources get thin on the ground, the testosterone starts to flow,
and you're off.

If she's right (and I'm not arguing) there could be a strong case for making testosterone a Class A drug. (Shades of the cure for football hooliganism espoused many years ago in the amusing "Not the 9 o'clock news" by Pamela Stephenson... cut their goolies off.)

If the weather stays like this I may just pop down to the seaside tomorrow. It's a bit late (13:10) now, and besides I'm getting hungry.

Just back...

... from my local drug dealer2 in time to unload the washing machine and make myself another cuppa for drinking with a croissant. The sun shines on, somewhat more brightly than it did when we set off on our walk nearly seven hours ago:

Pussy willow

It's not quite warm enough to break out the shorts yet. [Pause] I've been listening to the 1980 album "Ten out of Ten" by 10cc with the lovely track "Overdraft in Overdrive" on it. I note I last mentioned it exactly four years ago on the day Christa got her magnificent cheque for one penny — where does all this Time stuff go when it evaporates? :-)

Time to do the curtains-drawing round and decide on the nature of the next batch of calories. It's 18:23 and I'm a bit peckish.



1  At just before midnight.
2  Brian keeps me "wired" and, today, I needed a two-metre fix of stereo phono to stereo phono; and I needed it immediately :-)