2015 — 27 April: Monday

The pre-election bribes1 are sounding more desperate this nice, sunny morning. Rain, hail, and broken promises will move in soon enough. Certainly within (say) 10 days.

Meanwhile...

... my bacterial? viral? nastiness2 malingers on, somewhat, but less so each day. Just a little taste, no doubt, of what things will be like as we move fully into that charmless post-antibiotic world about which politicians can do so very little. Funny how they can so quickly claim credit for all the good things they didn't do and deflect blame for all the bad things (or simply ignore them). And they are at their most craven just before the "X" is scrawled on that bit of paper.

Tea is the only remedy for such cynicism in one so young, I guess. Followed by my first batch of fresh food shopping in five days. The necessarily-neglected cupboard of Mrs Hubbard is looking nearly as gaunt (or should I say "etiolated"?) as I do these days. Need some fresh air and sunshine...

Isn't this...

... one of the more outrageous misquotations from that TV show retelling "Wagon Train" in space?

Hawking

I always thought it was a simple "Energise!" But lacking the benefits of access to a TV when the original series was shown I could easily be wrong. (And what is a Zayn Malik, I wonder? Some form of Black Hole, perhaps? I fear I'm profoundly ignorant.)

Shivers of recognition...

... throughout this entire essay. This is the merest snippet:

But I trust you'll agree that the possession of books is not identical to the possession of shoes: Someone with a thousand books is someone you want to talk to; someone with a thousand shoes is someone you suspect of belonging to the Kardashian clan.

William Girardi in New Republic


(And what is a Kardashian, I wonder? Some form of cultural Black Hole, perhaps? I fear I'm profoundly ignorant.)

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to try to find a pair of shoes so I can nip out and grab some food.

Done!

Just two...

... terribly minor audio gripes with my Linux system this morning. My first attempt to play the "Jazz Record Requests" programme I'd just snaffled from the BBC (which claimed to be well over three hours long), produced not so much as an audible 'peep'. Nor when I poked a stick (as it were) into the nest of non-well-tempered software nestling within was there any hint of the existence of my wondrous (and plugged in) Creative X-Fi PCi sound card. Let alone any ability to configure or mix output devices and signals.

My second attempt, following a simple restart, produced instant (and wondrous) audio, which was a relief until I quickly realised the continuity announcer was inviting me to sit back and enjoy "Opera on 3"! This would explain the programme's length but is in no way any real improvement over the Jazz I'd actually been hoping for. Or is this an educational crusade by our artistic robot overlords, perhaps? Good ol' BBC and its apparently ever-present digital glitches.

And, yes, the downloaded file clearly states it is "Jazz Record Requests". Though Linux was equally stupid to have failed to detect my ever-present sound card. On the grounds, I assume, that since I hadn't actually used it for a couple of days clearly it could be (scuse the pun) discarded? It's not so much that the grass is invariably greener in the Linux meadow, more that the cow pats are in different locations. Strangely, I now find myself in need of more tea!

The fact that...

... my already late lunch is now being further delayed by the laws of thermodynamics is doing very little to subdue my hunger pangs. It's my own fault (as it has tended to be every time in this kitchen for the last — good grief — nearly eight years) which just makes it far worse, of course. "You've no-one to blame but yourself" was a particularly irritating phrase dear Mama loved to trot out... Semantically closely-related to those Terrible Twins "I told you so" and "Serves you right". Just the thing3 for boosting a young chap's confidence, of course.

"Bother!" said Pooh. "I'm still hungry" :-)

Sound...

... has again gone AWOL, though this time only from web browsers. Not terribly impressive...

  

Footnotes

1  Or should that be "promises"?
2  Itself nothing in comparison to the upcoming five weeks of single-room isolation chemo now starting for my chum's chum, so I shouldn't complain. Christa would always point out how many people there were in far worse situations than we were at any point.
3  Faced with decisions as a parent, I found a useful technique was to ask myself "What would dear Mama do?" and then — surprise, surprise — try to do the opposite. You would have to ask Peter whether this technique worked, of course.