2012 — 11 November: Sunday
Christa, I'm prepared to admit1 this is ridiculously early, but (as ever) I refuse to take responsibility for the vagaries of my subconscious :-)
So... here starts Year Six as a widower and that strange but undeniable fact is, I suspect, the 'underlying' reason for my earlier than usual return to the so-called waking state. Either that, or (roughly equally likely) I was simply craving the next cuppa needed to feed my life-long addiction. Either way, said cuppa's now nicely to hand...
Golly!
The latest (and still almost brand new) Director General of the BBC has just fallen on his sword. I wonder if Jim'll Fix It for him? And that nice Lord (!) Patten does indeed look gloomy, as described. Perhaps because the hapless (ignorant?) chap who wanted to shut down BBC 6Music now rises (like the bubbles in the fizzy drinks he used to market) to the top of the heap, albeit in an "acting" capacity. That the no-doubt totally honourable chap mistakenly identified as yet another 'abuser' happened to be the Baroness Thatcher of Kesteven's chief bag carrier for 15 years merely adds another piquant flavour to the noisome brou-ha-ha. (Link.)
Incredible.
Golly! [2]
The upcoming Microspit patches reveal (and, I hope, fix) some critical vulnerabilities in my brand new OS. How could such a thing be?
The BBC have got one thing right: they have quietly refreshed the current Kermode and Mayo podcast removing the duplicated 12 minutes that caused me to stop listening the first time.
I must say, it's brightened up considerabubble since the sun started shining out of a cloudless sky. I await my lunchtime companions who have mentioned the possibility of taking me out for a meal. It's 10:15 and finally above freezing out there.
MagPi
A logical name, I suppose. After all, it's a magazine about the (Raspberry)Pi. (Link.)
Come on, kinder. I'm getting peckish! It's 12:45 already. [Pause] And we're back, in my case having absorbed a tasty burger in Oxford's. [Pause] A file transfer or two, and it's time (16:19) to deal death to some of the various weeds that live hereabouts before it's too dark for them to see what they're killing...
There will be a return visit to deal with the adolescent trees that have taken root at the side of the house. They live among thickets of brambles, which Christa maintained in the hope that they would form an effective burglar deterrent — mind you, that side of the house consists of nothing but bricks.
Somewhat later
I must say, having Peter and Peter's g/f here certainly helped take my mind off the past on this of all days. Their impending building work (and, more particularly the chunk of it that I'll be paying for) is also a potent distraction.
I've grabbed a late evening meal and caught up on a few bits and pieces. Tomorrow will find me first at Mr Postie's treasure cave and then at my optician. It will be interesting to find out the change, if any, in my posterior vitreous detachment. I suspect both my eyes have now been equally affected, but the few bits of neural processing capability I retain (somewhere in the hollow between my ears) seems to have been able to filter out most of the effects. Fingers crossed.
I won't lose any sleep feeling sorry for "Incurious" George now that I know he's receiving a £450,000 pay-off (an outrageous sum that eats up well over 3,000 annual BBC TV licence fees).