2013 — 2 September: Monday
Last time I heard the Schubert Piano Trio #2 in Eb played on the steam wireless it nearly drove me nuts1 as I scurried around trying to track it down. Earlier this morning I recognised it immediately and simply enjoyed it "in the moment". Progress of a sort, I feel.
In other progress, the errant title has been found and corrected.
Adkins, Patrick H. - Master of the Fearfull Dephts
As my chum put it: a double whammy. Now I must away quickly on a hunter / gatherer run as I (potentially) have a lunch rendezvous to travel to, too. And the present state of Mother Hubbard's cupboard is nothing to write home about.
I suppose it's...
... vaguely reassuring to know that, should I ever suffer an emergency in the Waitrose car park, my smartphone (assuming I'd remembered to stick it in my pocket) would have all five bars of signal to help it summon help. In fact, it's nice to know that its display works "all the way up to five" — it certainly doesn't down here in Technology Towers. Oh well, ever onward.
Is it time for "lemonses" yet? [Pause] Patrick Gale is the morning guest on "Essential Classics", I recall last time I heard him four years ago I noted then the only book I have by him, a nice little biography of Armistead Maupin mentioned on today's BBC web page.
Somewhat to my bemusement...
... I have correctly diagnosed my neighbour Pauline's latest batch of email woes. She's using a different email client programme this time, but it was still a similar problem to the last time she came a'knockin'. I was able to prove — by sending myself an email from her system, then nipping back here to reply to it, then examining the System Failure notification I promptly invoked — that her continued disinclination to clean out any deleted emails, let alone keep any retained emails in a set of subfolders (all of which simple actions, I fear, I recall advising last time this happened) had caused her Inbox to fill up, and stop receiving any further email.
Still, I now feel as if I've performed all my IT support duties for the day (if not the year) and can patiently resume waiting for a text or call on my signally-challenged mobile to tell me whether or not today's tentative lunch rendezvous is actually "on".
That decision rests in the hands of my friends' medicos, alas, down in Soton but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Which makes typing rather tricky.
And here I am...
... in the middle of a gloriously sunny afternoon, following a very pleasant meal and catch-up natter at that old stalwart "The White Horse" over in Ampfield. What's next, I wonder? A cuppa, I suspect. I am left pondering their advice to watch the new Star Trek, though my enthusiasm for that particular franchise is a little lower, to be honest.
My next excitement? Tomorrow's dental repairs. I can wait.
I've noticed throughout...
... my life that financial institutions have always had at least one trait in common: ruthless rapacity.2 Exemplified this afternoon by the offer I've just cyberspatially received (and promptly 'torn up') from the credit cards administered by an outfit trading under the innocuous initials "mbna". Being desperate to flatter me and get me to spend my perpetually and persistently non-existent money they want my debt (I have none) in the shape of zero interest balance transfers from other cards (my balances remain zero) or by transferring "money" conjured up out of thin air (that is, debt) directly into my current account.
Where were all these zero interest loans and what-have-you while I was clearing the mortgage? How long will it take for people to realise just how broken the whole stinking system remains?
Sad to see...
... that the Ansible newsletter this month has a (too) long list of obits, dammit, including John Boyd and Douglas R Mason.
Happy to see...
... that being over 60 years old actually produces a minor-league fuel cost benefit with my gas / electricity supplier, though their online tariff selection and switching process could well have been carefully-designed to confuse the, erm, over 60s client base.