2011 — 29 March: Tuesday
I'm not in the habit of getting up early to drive down into Soton — in fact, the last time I did this with any regularity was in the mid 1980s when IBM placed me on "assignment" in glamorous, downtown Millbrook for 18 months or so to work on the disaster that was CICS/CMS (but that's another story and, besides, I mostly got lifts from my neighbour Kathy who worked there at Imperial Tobacco). I used otherwise to have to catch a pair of buses, the first leaving here at about 07:20. Those weren't the days. Still, I'm allowing time for rush hour traffic to have got worse in 25 years.
Having scanned what are (as far as I know) my remaining slides of Christa it seems a shame not to publish one or two of them.1 Here's one showing Christa and Peter at the Netley waterfront in June 1982, doubtless in search of an elusive crab:
Right. Time (06:35) for breakfast. [Pause] And, as I munch the last of it, I find this very neatly put:
What happened in Japan is nearly unthinkable: an earthquake accompanied by a tsunami cut loose an atomic disaster. Many lives have been lost or ruined, and at
present we have little or no idea what's in store for the Japanese people. There's radiation in the seawater, and there's no reason to thing (sic) this thing will end
tomorrow.
I can think of no better reason, if you believe in God, to abandon that belief this instant. Natural disasters necessarily come under God's plan if you
believe he has one. That is, if he is benevolent, omnipotent and omniscient. If he's not, then your God is no better than a broken air-conditioner. Get
rid of it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time I wasn't here.
Has the jury reached a verdict?
Well, the "fine" was £33 (and one of the four tyres is coming up for renewal, too). But I was back home and snuggling up to my overdue second cuppa by 09:15. The traffic was worse on the return journey, oddly.
The BBC TV breakfast rolling "news" in the waiting area (presented by two twits on a red sofa) was unedifying, to put it mildly. I really don't miss broadcast TV. (Mind you, the only other infotainment option was a copy of yesterday's Daily Mail. No thanks!)
I just have time to nip to the grocery store before young John S calls round to pick up some storage cartons. It's amazing what you can get done in the morning when you get up early enough :-)
So, as we drift gently into the afternoon, John has just left with a cup of coffee and a few kg of cardboard while I'm hefting a useful £20 note. Excellent. Smetana's Ma Vlast has just finished. One of Christa's favourites, as it happens.
R.I.P. Diana Wynne Jones
Sad news from the weekend. The first of her books2 that I read was the hilarious "The Ogre downstairs" ...
... which was serialised on the "Jackanory" TV programme in 1974. I caught it while off sick from work. There's a note in it that shows Peter read it in November 1988, too.
The brief, but quite heavy, shower is over. My next adventure will be the blagging of a cuppa over with Roger and Eileen, methinks. It's 14:06 and I feel as if it's been a very long day already.
Mercy me!
I blush. I've just spotted and corrected a tiny, teensy itsy-bitsy bug in molehole's CSS file that has been festering there for more than four years. Strewth, chief. What's the world coming to? It's 18:34 and my next cuppa now needs zapping — if, indeed, the tea-bag hasn't merged with the glaze already.
Handling dear Mama's...
... funds for her as her "attorney" is an odd sensation. I was discussing this with John earlier, as he will soon have to face exactly the same issues in his own family. This evening I transferred the proceeds from the sale of her house (which she doesn't now even remember having lived in for the last 33 years) to her savings account (which she doesn't remember she's got), so I can more easily arrange to continue to pay the fees of her care-home (which she doesn't understand she's now living in) until such time in the future that the State decides she's officially reduced herself to the status of a pauper and steps in to take over the costs.
The amusing irony for those with a sense of humour as black as mine — indeed, as black as Christa's was, too — is that if she weren't now so lacking in cognitive power she'd be utterly horrified at the thought of "wasting" all her money on herself instead of hoarding it for "her two boys" (whose names she no longer remembers).
Well, speaking as one of those "boys", I think it's amusing :-)
I've just watched one of my reliable "feel good" films (Three to tango), chugged down some delicious ice cream and fruit as a late pudding, and am now contemplating an early night as it's been a long day. I have a mild mystery lunchtime outing tomorrow, rain or shine, in search of a fabled osprey. We shall see.