2014 — 22 April: Tuesday

The percentage of fresh food in Mother Hubbard's cupboard has dropped dangerously1 low so I expect some time today to be expended on foody-related expenditure. 'Twas ever thus. It can wait until after breakfast, though. That I can still rustle up. "Rustle up"? It's not as if I intend to lasso a steer.

Meanwhile, having browsed...

... most of my usual web watering holes, about all I note is that Victoria Coren has won, again, at poker.

I have steeled myself against the disappointment (or, at least, irritation) I expect to feel on finding that Waitrose has now discontinued its frightfully convenient packs of root veg until the autumn. It's the sort of thing they do after the Easter spasm. They clearly have no regard for a chap's crockpot habits and preferences. [Pause] Pah! They hadn't discontinued them, but I got there too late, dagnabbit. Ho-hum. Tomorrow is another day.

I'll be experimenting with blueberries alongside the cranberries in my next batch of stewed plums for my cereal topping. Anything to distract from the cardboard-like sludge of all this healthy bran and fibre. It was raining, just a little, but now (11:18) seems to be trying to lighten/brighten up a bit.

Many a true word...?


The obsolescence of Windows Server 2003 won't be as big a deal as the death of XP, for two reasons.
The first is that servers tend to be be (sic) upgraded more often than PCs, because the former are cared for by knowledgeable and skilful Reg-reading types who understand the need to migrate from decade-old operating systems and have therefore probably already made the move. Most PCs, by contrast, are in the hands of amateurs.

Simon Sharwood in El Reg

Amon Düül II

Dance of the Lemmings? Blimey, I haven't played that in quite a while. My young cousin Clive introduced me to it in the summer of 1971 and I toddled into Birmingham city centre very shortly thereafter to buy a vinyl copy of it. Had to wait ages for it to appear on CD, mind you. Nor did the "parental units" take kindly to it being played on their little Sony system. (The one whose bass unit I took out with the low Moog bits from ELP's "Lucky Man", come to think of it.)

Good grief!

One of dear Mama's financial institutions has correctly sent to my address a letter intended for her. So far, so good. However, the letter tells her that they have received a request to change her marital status. That's another 10 minutes of my Life spent in straightening out a glitch in someone else's data. I've been advised to "disregard this form letter — if I can". Are all industries equally inept, I wonder?

(Rhetorical question.)

You hafta laugh. Time for my lunch. Well past time, in fact.

A few more...

... ancient bits of what used to be food (of various sorts, some even enhanced by potential microbial and/or clearly visible fungal colonies) in a variety of long-untouched (where "long" is certainly over six years) containers from a dark nook or two in the kitchen are now all tidily destined to become landfill in their next life, starting on Thursday when the "black" bin lorry next trundles around on its appointed, erm, daily rounds.

Speaking of...

In the ocean depths off Madagascar, obsolete fish keep their laggard appointments. In the depths of the human mind, obsolete assumptions go their daily rounds. And there is little difference between the two, except that the fish do no harm.

Robert Ardrey

But where? This must surely have been sparked by that living fossil, the coelacanth. As a youngster reading my parents' Sunday Express, I somehow formed the impression this fish that was "millions of years old" was some long-lived freak of nature.

I'm impressed...

... by the three episodes I've now watched of Lena Dunham's "Girls". I'm by no means the target demographic, but it's a class act. All the more remarkable with her writing and directing as well as helping carry the ensemble acting. It's both funny and intelligent. Typical HBO, in fact.



1  I exaggerate; slightly.