2013 — 26 March: Tuesday

Max Richter's reworking of Vivaldi1 has been in the 'classical' chart for 21 weeks now. [Pause] Cuppa supped, I shall be nipping out for my next batch of crockpottery in a while, and then I shall rendezvous with Iris for lunch. At the Rising Sun but somewhat after the sun has risen.

Meanwhile, I was researching new editions of "Great Expectations" as my venerable (1972) cheap American paperback is — as I discovered to my (mild) horror last night — about to fall apart more than somewhat spinelessly. The Norton "Critical" edition is well-annotated, but comes in for criticism for being set in 10 point. Other self-appointed web critics assure me it (the novel) is both "slow" and "boring" (!). Well, one of my editions of "Pride and Prejudice" is a Norton edition, and it seems mighty fine to me, so I'm about to click on "Buy"...


Done! Gotta love that "extant materials" and the dangling descriptor. Now for a spot of breakfast.


... though it may sound, I was a cinnamon virgin until I met Christa's mum in September 1974 over in Meisenheim on that initial two-week "come with me over to Germany and meet my family" holiday. So this morning's lip-smacking breakfast was a no-brainer: a pair of buttered cinnamon hot-cross (a minor-league concession to the upcoming festival) buns loaded with "reduced sugar" orange marmalade and a decent cup of coffee. Is this the Life?

Even though it's still horribly cold out there.

About time...

... this showed up:


It was accompanied by that retina-searing little torch from China.

Brrr. It's a mere 19.1C here on my return. I'm closing the window, dammit.


... is sneaking quietly around 'my' little estate this evening pushing this waste paper through letterboxes:


I have a dark suspicion2 it may even be my new neighbours. And, as eny fule kno, TANSTAAFL!

I had one of those...

... mildly irritating "senior moments" during my lunchtime chat with Iris. She'd mentioned an upcoming yoga weekend in Cambridge and — for the life of me — I couldn't recall the name of the bookshop I used to haunt there on Wednesday afternoons back in 1971. It was, of course, "Heffers" (in the same way that Oxford has "Blackwells"). But then, I've been back there only once in the nearly 42 years since then...


That was a good haul :-)



1  I bought my download last November. Ahead of the curve; that's me :-)
2  Speaking of suspicion, the previous set — arrogantly secure enough in their Muslim beliefs to call me an infidel to my face — eventually gave up their not-terribly covert proselytising and simply moved away rather than killing me. Perhaps it would have clashed with their Hippocratic oaths, as they were both NHS doctors?