2012 — 29 October: Monday
And here we are1 on the threshold of a bright, new, Monday morning. The virus has (largely) vanished though not before leaving its usual remnants lingering in the throat and nose. Charmless piece of Dim Design if you ask me. Still, there's some supplies shopping to be done if I want anything fresh to eat in the coming week. That's always a mild incentive to bestir myself. And it's not raining.
I enjoyed quite a lot of yesterday's music, by the way. And I'm (still) savouring Saturday's delivery of "Posy" strip by delicious strip.
Now that I have put...
... almost exactly six years distance between me and my beneficent former employer, I can take a more detached view of the High Court Judgment regarding who said or wrote what, when, regarding a crucial detail of the Main (pension) Plan that I, and many others, belong to. Besides, I retired (with IBM's consent) before age 60 and am thus unaffected. Justice Warren's judgment contains some amusing turns of phrase. He was not entirely pleased with the co-operation he received from the Gods in Armonk. (But then, was anyone, ever?)
It's fair to say the 'deli' counter could have used at least one further pair of serving hands this morning. I got fed up of waiting and will return tomorrow, when stocking up on my next batch of crockpottery... eye of newt, leg of troll, etc etc. Meanwhile, I await word from Carol in light of her little local hurricane. I'm sure she's above any likely storm surge, but there were plenty of elderly trees near her house last time I was there.
It only belatedly...
... occurred to me, as I was lunch-munching a few minutes ago, that I'd unconsciously assembled a replica of my usual choice when eating in the top floor canteen of the ICL offices in Slough nearly 35 years ago. A sardine salad with a small side dish of chips. I've been eyeing the drizzle on my car on the drive outside before resuming my sporadic firefights against the encroaching chaos that is my ever-growing collection of MP3 files.
What — do you suppose — are the chances that a track titled "The Heinrich Manoeuvre" by a band called Interpol is (or began as) a typo for "Heimlich"? Or have I missed something? These Pop Cultural allusions are leaving me in the dust.
Like mother, like son?
So, I thought, it's probably about time to nip over to the (not a)care(in the world) home as I expect my indigenous virus population is now once again down at the harmless level. What do I find when I arrive? Well, not dear Mama. She was off out in their minibus enjoying a pub lunch somewhere. I'm going to assume that means she's fine for a while. Unlike the weather, and unlike our local stretch of motorway, which was once again sporting those "40 mph" warnings.
Definitely time (15:07) for my next cuppa. [Pause] Silly me. I assumed it was lousy weather making it so gloomy out there. Not so — it's simply good ol' GMT (or whatever they call it nowadays).
Taking a break from my Mighty Labours (as one must) I chanced upon this. (Colgate? I thought that was a paste for the tooth.)
I wouldn't...
... mind knowing how, next time I look up (as it were) it's 21:14 and some. I think I've had enough compute time for one day. Still, progress is just about discernible. If you know where to look. There's a walk planned for tomorrow, combined with a pub lunch. That should deal a blow to the cobwebs.