2013 — 5 January: Saturday
I may just have to listen to BBC Radio 2 next Tuesday, not something I normally do.1 I can raise a glass to Big Bro for his 41st anniversary and thus kill two birds with one stone.
Meanwhile, as friend (F4) — see yesterday — has already pointed out, while he was denigrating my opinion of Twiglet without, of course, having watched or read any of the material, it's another dull-looking day. I suppose I could go on to snipe at the religious chap I've just heard waffling about the "inter-generational wisdom" that he feels "his" church is ignoring by 'welcoming' gay bishops (albeit, celibate ones who repent their former evil ways).
On balance, I prefer the thought of some breakfast.
I wonder...
... what's on my...
... for today?
It occurs to me that my fascination with 3D goes back quite a long time. For example, as an impoverished fifth-former, I forked out the ungodly sum of 21 shillings in 1967 for my copy of this wondrous book of anaglyphs:
Although by then I'd already been forced to drop 'technical drawing' as an "O"-level exam subject in favour of the mandatory French ("taught" from a series of stultifyingly-dull Whitmarsh books, which 'frankly' [forgive the pun] I could well have done without2), for reasons entirely to do with the idiotic permissible combinations of "O"-level subjects. Those are authentic signs of spider-feasting along the edge of the dust-jacket, by the way.
Although it amuses me to wonder whether this example...
... could have inspired the designer of the book jacket of my 1979 first edition of Hofstadter's weighty tome, I already know that Hofstadter himself designed and made the two redwood blocks:
Later
The letter "W" beckons, though somewhat unenticingly. I've now processed 36,000 MP3 files, give or take. There was a curious hiatus when I discovered that four tracks on a Ukulele Band of GB live CD had mysteriously gone AWOL. They were all there in the right subfolder, and correctly meta-tagged, but they simply refused to play. Luckily, I knew exactly where to lay my hands temporarily on a duplicate CD within trivially easy walking distance in the bungalow across the road (which was just as well as I certainly don't currently know exactly where to lay my hands on my own copy!)
The re-ripped files are settling into their new home from home. And my spare Jackie Leven CD now has a new home, too.
Not entirely sure when it became 20:08, but then I'm not bothering to wear a watch and I seem to have lots of better things to do than track the fleeting seconds, as it were.
Another minor-league hiatus...
... when I stop to sample my tiny handful of Wes Montgomery jazz guitar tracks, and promptly set out to try to find an MP3 album of the one that Dad had on vinyl. I bought a trio of classic albums plus half a dozen extra tracks — all remastered — for less than a fiver. Should stave off the pangs for a bit (though I couldn't find the particular album I remembered from 40 years ago). Pity; it had a lovely version of the Beatles' "Fool on the Hill" which pinpoints it to 1967 or shortly after. But, in strict obedience to that Law about the Perversity of the Universe tending always to a Maximum, that track is conspicuously absent from the 193 or so albums currently on offer from that South American river.