2015 — 2 August: Sunday
I realised — though only quite late yesterday — I had been fibbed to. (Or perhaps my "informant" was simply mis-informed.) Tomorrow is not a bank holiday though, to be fair, he did say "Apparently monday is some sort of jollification for the peasantry". Our next BH doesn't come around until right at the end of the month. Oddly disappointing,1 though I expect I shall survive.
With the help of a cuppa. And stories like this:
There's a bit of a clue in the name, surely?
A quick change...
... of plan for my morning cereal fruit topping, as I rescued what I could from a couple of Bramley cooking apples intent on perfectly illustrating the phrase "rotten to the core". My kitchen is nothing if not a hotbed of biological warfare.
I'm not saying...
... Technology Towers is jinxed. Heaven forbid! But it may just be time for a return visit to some lighting departments. Having got rather used to the look (though not the feel) of my previous ROCCAT keyboard I've discovered the downside of keys that aren't backlit is that, well, they aren't backlit. I'd been repairing that deficiency with a long-disused desk lamp of Christa's (for local illumination of my spiffy new DAS keyboard). But Mr Antique has just unkindly developed a potentially fatal third crack in the ancient plastic2 around the base of its transformer...
... turning it into a voltage-spewing shocking disaster in waiting; not my preferred kind of household appliance until the day I need to resort to DIY ECT "therapy". So, on to lamp #2...
A much skinnier and newer one that struck me as a lot less clunky than the traditional "Anglepoise" (though I admit I still have one of those in reserve).
2,555 days ago...
... I was enjoying the jokes on Ian McLagan's web site. They are now here. But I thus found out he died last December, dagnabbit. Funny stuff, life :-)
Speaking of jokes... the old ones are the best. Consider this sad tale of a pet octopus (called Harold):
So chap A, with a pet octopus called Harold, asks chap B whether he can look after Harold for him while chap A goes on holiday.
B: Sure. Any special diet, behaviour, treatment?
A: No, just two simple things. Keep his bathwater salty but clean, and whatever you do, don't put him down on a tiled floor.
B: OK. Leave us your keys and a phone number, just in case, and have a good trip...
2 weeks pass, and B has cause to phone A at his holiday hotel...
B: I'm sorry. I put Harold on a tiled floor while I was changing his bath water.
A: !!!?
B: Well, what do I do now?
A: Fetch a spade from the shed.
B: That won't do any good. Every time I lever one arm up, he sticks another one down on the floor. I've been wrestling with him for six hours...
A: That's not what the spade's for. Hit him on the head, once. Then, look like you're going to do it again. As soon as he puts his arms up to cover his head, grab him!
My filmed entertainment...
... was delivered (on Blu-ray, that is) on Princess Buttercup's 43rd birthday. A guilty pleasure if ever there was one.