2012 — 25 May: Friday
Sad to say, yesterday evening's Sandy Denny concert tribute was spoiled by over-zealous amplification of the drum and bass to the point of near distortion1 so, by mutual agreement, the three of us left at the first interval. Still, we'd rediscovered an excellent Chinese restaurant earlier, and there was tea and biccies back at their ranch afterwards, so the evening remained highly enjoyable. As did the quite rapid drive back down the A34 — indeed, it's safe to say that learning to drive was really the only redeeming feature of that horrible period of Christa's final illness.
My companions strongly recommended the new Sherlock Holmes.2 It seems Robert Downey Jr's English accent has taken on greater solidity. I shall have to check this out. But not now! G'night.
The evidence...
... so far is suggesting another hot day. After an hour or so, BlackBeast is running about 10C above living room ambient, which is currently 25.6C. I shall have to nip out at some point if I want to eat any fresh food this weekend; there's also a promise of being allowed to plunder the biscuit tin with Roger & Eileen. Cool.
[Pause] Speaking of... if a chap can't treat himself to a little pot of ice-cream in what feels like a heat wave, then when can he? And it's funny how the not-very-loud noise from a room fan on its lowest setting completely swamps the residual noise from the things whirring gently round inside BlackBeast.
Ice-cream — the last of an ancient tub — for lemonses; how decadent is that?
Listening to...
... the 1986 album "Filigree and Shadow" by This Mortal Coil is something I haven't done for many years. But it still sounds fresh. Time (12:58) for a light salady-type lunch, methinks.
Back from helping to empty said biscuit tin, I note the porch thermometer (now [17:33] in direct sunlight) is registering 42C. The living room is much more comfortable at a mere 26.7C — I assume it will all end in a thunderstorm at some point.
I am curiously unmoved by news of many hundreds of thousands of unsold tickets for the upcoming Olympics spasm of insensate nonsense. Panem et circenses — Pah!
The BBC feather warcast holds out little hope of any immediate change. Though it's now "down" to 25.6C in my living room. G'night.