2013 — 2 March: Saturday
Is it my lively imagination1 or is it slightly brighter this still unsunny not-very-Springy day?
Having mentioned haruscipation a couple of days ago I got thoroughly sick of listening to political commentators poring over the entrails of the Eastleigh byelection result, spinning it every which way to derive comfort (and reassurance that their lives and occupations were meaningful?) of one sort or another. "A plague on all your Houses" indeed. "If" (as Red Ken remarked) "Voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal." Particularly unamusing was the way the Lib Dem Big Cheese described it as a "stunning victory". Enough already. Can't we just go back to paying bankers huge bonuses for clocking up staggering losses while reducing the tax burden on them?
What, pray tell, is so awful about "eroding our military capability"? Why should welfare be cut instead? What a strange set of priorities. I really can't take too much "news" in one dose these days, and the naivety of the interrogation is pretty damn' depressing.
I was rather...
... hoping the world couldn't get any weirder. Apparently not. Or is it 1st April already? (Link.)
I was going to mention...
... the unlamented ex-Pope's digital scrapbook and say something snide about the lamentable Papal abuse of Comic Sans, but I got sidetracked by this piece of Apple video output "hi-def" tomfoolery. (Link.)
Still slightly...
... down at heel, alas, but the healing of my heel's blister slowly continues. I need a comprehensive change of sock policy for my new walking boots, I suspect, before their next outing:
Still, at least it's no longer quite so crippling. (Two weeks and counting.) I can now sympathise with Achilles more easily.
I've been browsing...
... Harold Nicolson's diaries. In early 1948 he fought, and lost, a byelection in North Croydon standing as the Labour candidate. More interesting was this revealing entry shortly after he'd published an account of the contest in "The Spectator" (that supposedly lost him any remaining chance of a peerage):
I went to look at the Roosevelt memorial. The statue itself is a nightmare, but the surrounding, with its two pools and little fountains, is quite successful. But how difficult the proletariat are! In principle I like to see such gardens thrown open to them. But they destroy the grass, and there were two little ragamuffins sailing cigarette-cartons on the two pools. Yes, I fear my Socialism is purely cerebral; I do not like the masses in the flesh.
Who could possibly disagree?
I have to say...
... I've been thoroughly enjoying Season #2 of "Dead like me" which I'm only now watching for the first time. Well, in between other stuff. But it's not long until midnight and tomorrow, as I used to tell Peter, is another day. G'night.