2012 — 6 March: Tuesday
Hello pension! Say "Hi" to my bank account for me, will you?1 It's a sunny, frosty morning hereabouts (-1C outside, 20C warmer inside) and there's a nice fresh cuppa just waiting to soothe the Inner Man. Morning shopping duties call as we're going to try for another walk tomorrow and are then both variously busy until Saturday.
I don't regret...
... the ending of my involvement with the UK's education "system" for a single minute. Even though I still remember sitting, bored beyond reason, in some early classes half a century ago thinking "When I'm a teacher, I'll do it differently." Hah!
I mean, there couldn't be a tiny possibility, could there, that the reason why you're fiddling around with exam pass levels is so that you can regulate the numbers of school students applying for university? After all, it has become quite embarrassing that thousands of young people we all thought were qualified to benefit from three years more education are now deemed not to be so, with the only visible reason for this shift in view being that you agree with the bankers that we can't "afford" that level of university provision.
Basic supplies replenished. What's next, Mrs Landingham? Well, finding a couple of stamps would be a good move. The sun is shining enticingly, too. And the Yaris now has a full tank.
I didn't know this:
That tin solder also grows whiskers (really, you can get a pointy "whisker" growing out of a majority tin solder which then shorts the circuits) is one of the explanations why modern electronics now fail before becoming useless rather than becoming useless (for reasons of software bloat) before they fail, as they used to.
Beats there a heart...
... so undead as to fail to respond to this campy cult classic?
Not mine! It even has La Pfeiffer's younger sister in it. What more could you want?
Mercy me!
Just had a call from my young cousin Gill, who's now a granny and retired. How Time flies, heh? Speaking of which, lunch is definitely in order. Rumble, rumble.
The lengths...
... I will go to for a free cuppa, these days. Having failed to find a stamp, let alone Christa's book of snailmail addresses, I caught a passing whim and let it carry me up to Hurstbourne Priors, where I found much to admire at Chris and Gill's in the wild bird and frog spawn line. I was only nearly killed twice on the return journey, and am now (16:57) about to relax with my next cup of home brew.