2011 — 29 December: Thursday
Today's the day I finally set about replenishing my little stock of food1 so I shall grub around under the sofa cushions looking for the odd coin or two. There are some hints of sunshine out there, but it also has a look of recent, and potential future, moistness. I note I have (once again) missed out on the glass bottle collection. If that's the worst that happens today I should be fine.
Tea, Mrs Landingham?
Thing is: is it going to stop raining any time soon? (The BBC doesn't even think it is raining.) [Pause] Well, mirabile dictu, not only did I manage to snaffle a parking slot right by the entrance just as I was about to be forced to go round again, but the shower only kicked in after I'd got back into the car after my little commercial spree.
So, the perpetual puzzle of lunch is solved, and there should be plenty of time to whizz over to the care-home later on.
Kids!
I've just emailed Junior:
I don't want to sound petulant, but when were you planning on telling me that you've cleverly sneaked a piece of Javascript on to all the molehole external web pages? I'm assuming it's related to Google Analytics. I'm further assuming it's benign. And I'm assuming you will one day tell me what goodness flows from it. Good idea to let me know, next time, lest I inadvertently screw it up.
Ignorance can be bliss, I suppose.
Last time I...
... expressed a wish regarding my next life (here) it was for a gigabit internal network. This time, I shall take care to rip my music CDs more carefully, and assign them folders more intelligently. I popped over to see dear Mama but left when I found her sleeping peacefully. A mere hour and 20 miles.
"Next thing you know" it's already 18:31 and pitch black out there. Let the evening revels begin. Indoors; it's now (19:23) pouring with rain out there. Yuk.