2013 — 23 March: Saturday

None of yesterday's early morning dashing around today. I awoke with one of my occasional coloured zig-zag flashing light shows1 which is my cue to eat something, drink something, and relax for a while, listening to Brian Matthew playing glorious music. I can do that :-)

A curious phenomenon, to be sure, but I've survived it this long, so I'm probably good for a bit longer. Besides, it's unenticingly drizzling out there and is only a couple of degrees above freezing. Some Spring this is turning into.

Meanwhile, if the financial...

... shenanigans in Cyprus don't help disperse that other curious phenomenon — the one that tries to insist that peoples' savings can be adroitly lifted by their guvmint rather than admit the system is flawed beyond repair — it may be time to think about dispersing dear Mama's reserves across several of these rotten institutions, or buying shares in cardboard box and blanket manufacturing companies.

My limited intellect doesn't allow my equally limited understanding of the "dismal science" to stretch far enough to understand why a country itself cannot (supposedly) declare itself to be bankrupt. But quite how a country can be simultaneously in the 'eurozone' and a tax haven for Russian money is also a bit of a puzzle.

Time for breakfast. [Pause] How cool is this 'Crumb' from my breakfast table?

Crumb and cat

Always worth another look.

I've just heard Peter Lilley say he'd prefer our present vile (but free) Press to the state-regulated version that the occupants of our Parliament are busily cooking up. Perhaps a written Constitution might help?

Hell's teeth... Dennis Wheatley? Really?? Blimey! (Link.)

I was just thinking...

... it's a bit chilly. The living room is a slightly Spartan 19C so I shall give in, and shut the little window. Indeed, I may yet once again block the 'plasma' gas fire's mandatory air vent since I'm not running it and have switched off the pilot light. If it keeps on like this I may have to take up running on the spot. Brrr.

I bought the seventh...

... of Armistead Maupin's engaging "Tales of the City" novels back in June 2008. As I mentioned at the time, the young fella in the (now-defunct) Borders bookshop asked me why I'd bought it. I told him I'd almost certainly been reading the series since before he was born, and that I'd only been waiting for this new title for a little over 17 years. I've just been re-reading it, having re-enjoyed its six predecessors in the last few weeks. I'm a man of simple pleasures.

Speaking of which: time for my evening meal. Quite some time past time, in fact. I tend to get absorbed when reading.



1  It had already reached the edge of my visual field which past experience has taught me — recall that Louis Wain cat? — meant it was nearly over.