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.