2012 — 31 December: Monday
Next thing I know, it's burst through into tomorrow and I've yet to get any sleep. This won't do1 at all. Need to be bright-eyed to see the New Year in, don't you agree? G'nite.
That's better!
Next, comes a new batch of crockpot supplies before either the heavens open or the crowds become too, erm, crowdy out there. But I'm not going anywhere without a fresh cuppa, never fear. [Pause] The uncrowdy bit worked, but the heavens were already partially open. Still, it should keep the Inner Man off my back (now there's a weird image) for the next few meals. On with the show. Starting with a spot of breakfast, methinks.
As I slurp...
... my well-earned 'lemonses' coffee, I note it's subsided to a slightly blustery drizzle out there. Much nicer in here. I've just received my final CD of 2012:
All the way from Lexington (horse capital of the world?!) at a shipping cost only slightly less than the CD itself. But the music is interestingly 'different'. And not remotely equine.
Bah, humbug! As I "dish the lunch-time dos" I note the late morning drizzle is now an early afternoon steady rain. And rather dreary it is, too. Still, the Beeb is pretending there will be some sunshine tomorrow. Is that a New Year's traditional trip to the seaside I see in my little crystal ball?
A cheery late-afternoon...
... call from Junior reassured me that the elbow Peter's g/f had already told me she dislocated on their snow-boarding adventures is mending. And also that the house repairs are coming along. On hearing that they're cooking up a storm for their hosts tonight, I naturally felt morally obliged to lay it on a bit thick about hunting out a cheese rind, some stale bread and an apple core (I'm sure I've got one somewhere... probably under the sofa) for my own repast. Not to mention teasing him about the data recovery2 he had to find out about to retrieve stuff from his portable little drive while they were away on holiday.
It's our job as Dads, after all.
Meanwhile, I got so fed up trying to sort out multiple copies of relatively low bitrate MP3s of Richard Thompson's "1000 Years of Popular Music"3 that I simply forked out my £3-99 to download a decent quality set from Amazon and just be done with it. I'm such a child of mad impulse.
Hark!
What's that? Could it be the gently-soothing sound of fireworks? Oh, joy. But then, over in Meisenheim the villagers tended to let loose with their hunting rifles. I tended to stay indoors.