2012 — 6 June: Wednesday
Neither Boris #1 nor Boris #2 sensed the Dyson's approach last night1 as they were too engaged in either a courtship ritual or feeding preparations. Not their fault they exceed a critical size limit and trigger my visceral reaction. I blame the Intelligent Designer who obviously was still an apprentice while working on my neural wiring.
Hints of sunshine among the heavy cloud cover suggest I may wait a while before nipping out to attend to Mother Hubbard's bare cupboard. Though if I wish to continue to eat largely fresh stuff (which I do) then I shall have to do something about it soon. Let's hope all the Jubilee bunting has been cleared away. (I assume that's all over, as is the transit of Venus. Both events equally unseen by me.)
Fridge...
... slightly less bare, and looming shower successfully dodged. I may yet take off in the direction of dear Mama's care-home later — the blighters have sent me a 'customer satisfaction survey' that reminds2 me of her continued existence :-)
When I see some...
... of what turns up in the world's leading journal of scientific research these days...
... I thank the stars I am but a bear of little brain, and don't own a smartphone by which they seem to think they can elucidate what goes on in my skull when I can't even do that myself. What would Tom Lehrer make of it, I wonder?
My virus is something I think I shall continue to keep to myself for one more day. I'm sure dear Mama can do without it.
I had an amusing chat earlier with a dear ol' gal who had just finished carefully manoeuvring her (it seemed to me, uncharacteristic) Ford Sierra RS Cosworth into the Waitrose space next to the one I'd equally carefully slotted into (but in one swell foop, as it were). All I'd meant to do was compliment her on the deliciously throaty exhaust burble, but she immediately began apologising (quite unnecessarily) for her 'backing and filling'. When I returned to my car I then realised why her rear end (for want of a better word) was sticking so far out past mine: she'd left a good four feet of unused space in front of the bit with the engine in it.
Time spent scouring...
... the bargain shelves in Asda can (occasionally) be time (and not much money) well spent:
Not always, I grant you... but sometimes.
Recall my recent...
... decision that it's about time for a return visit to my friends John and Judy (both ex-LEO, and then ex-ICL)? Instead of me beetling up the M3 and then down round the M25, the mountain (as it were) has decided to drop in on me for coffee tomorrow afternoon. Now I really will have to get serious with my Dyson... and not the little hand-held Boris-catching one, either.
If everything wasn't covered in dust I'm (almost) sure I'd be able to see it. Somewhere.