2012 — 23 January: Monday
The Newtonian planetary dance1 has produced the illusion of another morning, and Mike has our next walking route (in the vicinity of "No Name") plumbed into his hand-held GPS. So all I have to do is finish waking up, get my morning routine into some form of gear, grab a bite, pack a bite, and (possibly) pick up Brian on the way to my rendezvous. Simple enough?
Since it's only 07:12 I should be able to manage that. But it turns out Brian's fang doctor has a prior claim on him this morning. Now, where did Newton leave the kettle?
If the cap fits
The last State benefit I claimed of any kind was a bereavement allowance (and I did so simply by ticking one box on one of the forms handed to me in the wake of Christa's death). Four weeks before that sadly-necessary event, of course, Christa had just started being paid a "fast-tracked" disability living allowance because of her terminal illness. So in general, it's fair to say that I have no clear idea what makes someone eligible for welfare benefit payments in less extreme situations.
However, I note a political row is currently brewing over plans to "cap" such payments for any one family at a level2 that comfortably exceeds my widower's mite from IBM. The thought is a wry one. I don't begrudge people in need of these payments, but I have to wonder why social policy and education in the UK have brought us to the point where the Right Reverend Stephen Lowe can state "We have got some families, quite a large number of families I am sad to say, where neither parent is working. They perhaps are not particularly capable of working. They have large families."
Not a glowing testament (new or otherwise) to success, is it? Nor is this snapshot of price inflation. Perhaps I should climb into that brown paper bag and hop along to my nearest Civil Defence officer "who will tell me what to do" —for anyone old enough to remember Beyond the Fringe.
The sun is...
... shining brightly. The music on BBC Radio 3 is far too depressing to have on for a minute longer. Breakfast is loaded. Lunch is packed. Almost time I wasn't here...
And back, some seven miles of lanes and fields around Colmore and Tisted later, to be greeted by a reminder that I've yet to play "Poo Sticks" with the home bowel cancer testing kit the guvmint sent me just before Xmas, and a polite request to pay 4% more for dear Mama's care home costs. Worst case scenario: I develop what Christa had, it progresses the same way, and I fall off the perch. That will mean somebody else dealing with her, and — of course — arranging for her to dance on my grave in the way Christa always suspected she would :-)
You hafta laff.
It was quite chilly out there... perhaps the dredgers were bringing in the cold wind off the ship canal (line just nicked from Stuart Maconie).
Later
A nice, hot bath having worked wonders temperature-wise and a handful of "Bones" having done the trick enjoyment-wise it's time (19:17) for my evening meal. Leaving the tomatoes out of my magic crockpottery mix, and changing the main sort-of gravy constituent has made a worthwhile improvement to both the flavour and the overall colouration. I still don't really even begin to get the whole cookery thing but I'm slowly improving. I also checked my weight and am remaining stable at about 8kg less than my long-time IBM weight. Who knew?
I must admit, though, that today's walk made me aware at times of whatever it is that passes for muscles in the bits of leg between knee and ankle. I may have to face the fact that I'm not quite the spring chicken that lives in my head, as it were. (Mind you; if I feel like that, what about poor ol' Big Bro who has a birthday coming up before the end of the month?)
:-)