2013 — 26 January: Saturday

A cessation1 in the rain that's finally dispersed almost all the remaining ice is going to tempt us out on a walk this morning, even though we've already pencilled one in for Monday. Then another swift burst of tidying-up should make the place habitable enough for my son and heir tonight.

No response yet from Microsoft, but the thought did occur to me that yesterday's reminder to activate Win8 Pro may simply be just that... a dumb, automated reminder unaware of the prior activation. Mind you, that in itself speaks volumes about the usefulness (or otherwise) of their process.

I swear if I end up being forced to re-install Win7 on my two machines I may yet end up emulating Edmund White's vivid depiction of Michel Foucault in that 1980 New York bathhouse on a bad acid trip ("a ball of naked French philosopher, crazed and hissing, in the corner of a cubicle"). But not before breakfast. And at least one more cuppa.

One of my hobbies...

... is to cast an eye over the server log that shows me what people were looking for (and thus typed as a phrase into a search engine) that brought them to 'molehole'. I can usually deduce why that yields a "hit", but this one has me baffled:

??????? ? ???????? ??????? ????????

It loses a little something, I admit, as I don't have the Russian language character set installed. There are, however, ways around that minor obstacle:


I shall ask my chum Ian and, if it's not too rude, report back. [Pause] Brian Matthew has just played the delightful 1962 track "Fortune teller" (by Benny Spellman). There's an even nicer version of this on the rather newer collaboration ("Raising Sand") between Alison Krauss and Robert Plant.

I have no idea...

... who first noticed that "hunger is the best appetiser" but the observation is spot-on. I'm tucking into my late, light, lunch with considerable gusto (from a bottle) after a six-mile ramble, that was followed by a tantalisingly-brief glimpse of some of the capabilities of the JVC video projector and 'Darbee' video enhancer that Mike currently has on loan while his poorly Epson is nursed back to factory condition by Dr Epson. (I shall return either tomorrow evening or on Monday evening for a lengthier assessment.)

I also dashed quickly round with one of the Dysons, though I'm left pondering the psychology2 behind that somewhat uncharacteristic behaviour.

I was very kindly included...

... on some Antipodean email family exchanges of recent photos overnight. This gave me a tiny excuse (as if I need one!) to fling a minor-league barb in the direction of elderly Big Bro, who becomes a whole year older tomorrow, our time. I've yet to have the pleasure of meeting Bro's newest son-in-law (recently married to niece #3) but saw that he had just replied:

Oh God - I was wondering who the heck "John" was considering my
dad doesn't know how to use a computer and communicates via
technology through my 14 year old cousin. Great pics, flight is
going to be early, best go chow through some durries and listen
to some rap music before that pass time gets near-demolished upon
arrival of wife.

So I saw my chance to chip in with:

Oh God - I was wondering who the heck "John" was considering my
brother doesn't know how to use a computer and communicates via
technology through the now-extinct Passenger Pigeon... Don't forget
to wish him happy birthday any minute now where you live...
PS Nice pics :-)

While I was out...

... rambling through the countryside in the fresh air, Mr Postie dropped off both the latest care-home invoice (which I could well do without) and this little oddity which I'm pretty sure I caught in the cinema as a student a mere 40 years ago...


... but which seems to have picked up a not-very-savoury reputation since 1971. Honestly, what did the American public expect from a combination of Roger "Barbarella" Vadim as director and Gene "Star Trek" Roddenberry as writer / producer?



1  Momentary, no doubt, but we seize such moments.
2  I suppose I don't want my son feeling ashamed at the naturally bachelor-slobbish lifestyle of his Aged P in his twi-lit dotage. (Mine, that is, not Peter's.)