2011 — 28 September: Wednesday

Happy anniversary to me, heh, Christa?1 I must say, 1974 sounds and feels rather a long time ago. And a very different world. Ho-hum. On with the show, and on with the kettle.

It's 08:19 but I have no idea exactly when my young 'rellies' will appear.

Yet another reason...

... for avoiding broadcast TV. The plot of part of that under-rated film "Wag the dog" comes to life. Some day soon, they will doubtless now reveal that anti-wrinkle creams don't work, too. Golly. Still, as the chap says: "On a somewhat more positive note, we consider this as a bizarre appreciation of the level of realism incorporated into our games". (Link.)

Heather rang a few minutes ago. She's currently still with her other "Uncle David" near High Wycombe.

Remembrance of things past

Given my recent experience with a carton of elderly UHT milk that had been malingering undisturbed at the back of a kitchen cupboard rather more than two years past its "best by" date while it metamorphosed interestingly, I thought it prudent to chuck an even older tin of the evaporated stuff straight into the bin, unopened. It is, after all, quite a long time since early 2008 (its own proclaimed "best by" date).

Besides, the only two people I know/knew who even like the stuff are/were Big Bro and Christa...

The Venerable Beads...

... in my car seat cover had started to make a bid for freedom, so I popped out to Halfrauds (only to find that beaded seat covers are now a Thing of the Past, it seems). Returning with a more conventional cover, I was in the throes of fitting it when the youngsters arrived. Of course.

Cue for a chat and some music, followed by a quick trip out to the "Wheatsheaf" for lunch (glorious sunshine, by the way) and then straight over to the care-home for a flying visit. Dear Mama seemed much more lucid than on Monday, but we didn't stay overlong. Back for coffee and a tiny blast of something in the hi-def line and it was time to wave them on their way. Nice kids, and Paul looks like a good addition to the family down there — not that my opinion matters in the least.

Meanwhile, Mr Postie had been and gone and done his thing.


So I'm now relaxing with a cuppa and vaguely wondering whether to interrupt the final third of "Big Bang Season #4" tonight by starting the newly-arrived "House Season #7" blu-rays. Or even the Mitford melodrama "Love in a Cold Climate", which — as it was dramatised by Simon Raven — I have high hopes of. Tsk. Too many decisions.

Tell me; I'm curious

What right does a judge have to decide that I don't have a right to die if that is my expressed wish? If I end up brain-damaged and minimally conscious, I do not wish to continue in such a state for a second longer than I choose.2 What an insane and cruel system. Even dear Mama, with the attention span of a gnat and much-reduced cerebral processing capability, still has enough presence of mind to recognise her cognitive plight from time to time and say (on just about every visit I make to her) "I wish I was dead." Would you deny her that choice? If so, why?

It's now 22:01 and I polished off "Big Bang" — excellent show that stitched a permanent smile on my face.



1  That still doesn't sound right.
2  In this specific case, it seems that the family are arguing, after eight years, that the lady "would not have wanted" to be kept alive in this state. In Christa's case, we both agreed, and stated on entry to the hospice, that there should be no heroic resuscitation measures or forced feeding.