2012 — 20 January: Friday
Sadly, it seems dear ol' Dad wasn't always right1 when he said "Everything comes to he who waits". An overnight email from Amazon "regrets to inform me" that Valentine Howells "Sailing into Solitude" has proved beyond their grasp. (There was supposed to be a new edition coming out.)
I'm sure Roger will lend me his original edition.
Last night's viewing...
... brought me bang up to date with the misadventures of Castle (without a single shot being fired) and sucked me further into the bizarre2 world of Bones. Now, before breakfast, I shall nip out to gather in my next set of crockpot ingredients ahead of my visit to Romsey later this morning. It's 08:46 and looks both grey and quite windy out there.
Good job I got there early. The current excavations (in pursuit of long-term drain problems, I'm told) in the Waitrose carpark will lead to chaos, I predict, as the normal Friday hordes try to manoeuvre in and out against the partially-suspended one-way system. I grabbed my crockpot stuff and didn't linger longer.
On my way back, I ruminated on the wisdom (or otherwise) of the lady driver behind me trying to crawl up my exhaust pipe. I'm not certain she displayed a clear understanding of mass, momentum, kinetic energy, friction, and stopping distance. It could have been worse: she could have been chatting to a front seat passenger. I've noticed that lady drivers seem to turn their heads to face their passengers when they talk to them. Christa never did that. Nor do I.
Bank on it
An opinion from the BBC about a bank that I used to use, and now (sort of) own, as a UK taxpayer:
While I can see arguments on both sides of the "Bank bosses to get huge bonuses" issue ("huge" meaning one-off payments considerably in excess of my own lifetime earnings) I find myself reminded of two things:
It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary is dependent on his not understanding it... (Upton Sinclair) The salary of the chief executive of the large corporation is not a market award for achievement. It is frequently in the nature of a warm personal gesture by the individual to himself. (JK Galbraith)
Is that the time?
I'm safely back from my Romsey rendezvous, clutching a precious, signed, copy of the new book by David EH Jones. I shall post my review on Amazon as soon as I can. But not before lunch, which is now pretty high on my agenda.
Is that the time?
I'm safely back from my later rendezvous, clutching a pair of my books and thinking about my evening meal. It feels cold out there, but I shall now batten down the hatches. The weekend starts here, as it were.
Next thing you know, mysteriously, it's jolly nearly tomorrow already... again... just keeps right on happening. G'night.