2012 — 3 July: Tuesday
Another (un)fine morning — another earlyish start, too1 as I bemusedly note the following piece of Torygraph silliness:
Apparently, these primitive tribal customs matter greatly in some quarters. I won't comment on the mixed-sex quotation marks, and I can't be bothered to check the spelling of a verb I've never used before and (after today) don't ever expect to use again. Meanwhile, in much less important news I've just heard that a second senior head has been wheeled out of the Barclays boardroom. Another curtsy in the right direction.
Time (07:55) for breakfast, I think. [Pause] Crikey, those senior bankers just don't resign themselves to their fate, do they? Yesterday's ex-chairman is now the chairman again. Two curtsys (Huffington suggests 'curtsies') forward, one curtsy back, it seems.
Swedish dentist...
... on the job, with a return visit in a month for four minor pieces of repair. Right. What's next? Oh yes. Junior wants some money to help with his house purchase — where's that jam-jar?
I've spent a few minutes adding to the tiny treasure store here. Enjoy! #2 is in possible danger of displacing #1 from its #1 position...
Dead Can Dance
Are (finally) about to release their next album — after 16 years — and there's a single from it as today's BBC 6Music free MP3. That's "free" as in "it will cost you your email address". It's very good, too. (Link.)
I'm getting peckish, and it's only just made it into the afternoon.
Hard on the heels of yesterday's delivery comes today's back-filling of my Robin Tunney collection:
She strikes me as a beguilingly subtle actress (if one's still allowed to say 'actress' in these PC times).
Lunchtime listening
This one sped by while I was otherwise occupied, I suspect...
... 2007 having been a brutal and busy year in these parts. (Not your fault, Christa!)
I got fed up of waiting for the drizzle to stop. Hence Mother Hubbard's cupboard now has a discreet bulge in place of its previous near-vacuum state. After all, it will soon be time to feed Big Bro.
It's odd what you can find after reading the Letters pages of "Private Eye". 60 Years in 60 poems? (Example.)
I suspect...
... dear ol' William Shawn would have had a fit:
Now the Barclays chief operating officer has fallen on the sword just pulled from the chief executive. I'm listening to the chairman who's currently back in the job he resigned from yesterday. You couldn't make this up. I bet there were a few F-bombs being dropped in that boardroom in the last 48 hours.
Poor old BlackBeast is running round in circles, busily defragging one of its drives. I suspect I shall have to leave it to complete overnight... it's already 23:37 and the task is only about 15% complete. But there's a blast of Vivaldi from the other end of the living room.