2013 — 16 December: Monday
I called it a day relatively early (for me) last night and am therefore not particularly surprised to be pottering around relatively early (for me) this morning having clocked up over seven hours of the sleep stuff. I deduce my degree of "zonked" was pretty high. Driving in driving rain has that effect after a while. However, just because someone has died seems to me no good reason to stop wishing them a "happy birthday"1 once a year, surely? And although leaving behind my cousins' packed house of noise and jollity is always a bit of a wrench, it has to be done.
The parlous state...
... of Mother Hubbard's cupboard moves it fairly high up the agenda this morning as there seem to be gaps where nearly all the fresh stuff should be. My mood is reliably enhanced, however, by recalling that performing flea of English literature:
from Jill the Reckless: "Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoi's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty."
Breakfast is also on my agenda. But no vodka. Not even on the cornflakes (which, in my case, I 'ave not got).
Still MAD after...
... all these years, it seems:
Nuclear deterrence is essentially aimed at states, because it doesn't work against terrorists. And you can only aim a nuclear weapon at a rational regime, and at rational states that are not
already deterred by the US nuclear deterrent. So there is actually only a small set of targets...
By unilaterally disarming, we would be sending a message to countries like North Korea and Iran that we are losing our military will to fight...
It would be far cheaper to send them a letter.
Why have I...
... just fled BBC Radio 3? Well, hearing a studio guest described (in the same breath) as "an educator" and "an astrologer" has that prejudiced effect on me. And me a Libran, too :-)
And what was I thinking? People (in their hordes) don't simply stop shopping because I want to go. I didn't even bother turning into the Waitrose entrance after refilling the Yaris. I shall simply try again after the midday rush. [Pause] That's assuming it is a midday rush! [Longer pause] That is, indeed, what it turned out to be. Mother Hubbard is now less worried about her cupboard, though Master Mounce thinks his wallet is rather lighter than it was. And (of course) I got caught in the brief shower. Who said gods aren't vindictive bastards?
I shall be...
... starting work on only my second crockpot2 of this half of the year. Festive? Hardly. Nutritious? With all that fresh veg, how could it not be?
The mid-afternoon dark grey sky looks a tad Ragnarokish. What a charmless time of year this is.
Now here's a puzzler
If you were Christa, where would you keep the little gadget — a bit like a nutcracker, or a cherry stone remover — that can (with effort) be used to punch an extra hole in my nice new leather belt more neatly than (I suspect) I can by any other means? Failing all else, I shall just have to put on a bit more weight.