2015 — 11 October: Sunday
A more civilised time to kick my next day on Earth gently into gear and get started. First cuppa both made and enjoyed, in fact. Now, should I browse any of the dreadful planetary news yet, or just continue to ignore it? Even the BBC Radio 3 chap, Martin Handley, has just admitted that "having woken you up with the real world" (that is, the 8 o'clock news bulletin) "perhaps Fauré's Berceuse Op. 16 will now lull us back into a (more comfortable) daydream" so it's not just me. I think more tea will do that job...
I swapped "interesting" emails...
... yesterday, and am pleased to have proved helpful, but am hardly equipped to deal with a whole (and sometimes wholly-seeming) miserable planet's worth. Of course, the value of "interesting" depends on whether or not you've unpicked a particular "thread" of what dear ol' Dad used to call Life's Rich Tapestry, I suppose. And (sadly) it only occurred to me after his death that I'd never actually got around to asking him whether he'd been referring to the weaving supposedly done by the three Fates. Atropos (the one who actually cuts the thread of life) gave her name to Atropa belladonna (deadly nightshade).
[Pause] Wikipedia sheds a dim light (Arthur Marshall's supposed use of the phrase "Life's Rich Pageant" in the 1930s) but my further gentle questing diverted me down an amusing cul-de-sac — Paul Sieveking's review of the "real" news published a mere 20 years ago. Although I realised the phrase I sought was here just being used for the title of his review, this item1 caught my eye:
Budding actor Paul Fifield, 19, from Girton, Cambridgeshire, was the model for a male nude made from plaster. However, art student Kate Freeland used wall plaster instead of plaster of Paris for the full-body mould, and Paul was in agony when she tried to break the solid cast. Firemen took him to Addenbrooke's Hospital in Cambridge, where he was given an anaesthetic as the plaster was hammered off. He had been wearing only Y-fronts and a pair of socks. "Kate had a book on how to do it," he said, "but I don't think she got further than the preface."
Always read the manual, kiddies. And if it's a chainsaw manual, keep reading until you understand it.
You either know...
... what this is all about already:
... or (I guess) you don't. Either way, it's moderately wittertaining.
It's not exactly...
... warm, outside. I popped out on a truncated postal mission on foot, partly to assess progress (not much visible) with the Chalvington Road digging up (and whatever the opposite — tamping down, perhaps?) that's going on there.
While I approve...
... of Naughton's sentiment, I don't much care for the visual image he's planted in my head:
Lost Highway?
There are only so many things you can actually pack into one lifetime. "Highway 61," for example, completely passed me2 by. It was a long time before I paid much attention to Bob Dylan. Why would I, with this amiable variant around?
:-)
Speaking of lifetimes...
... I was glancing at some of the letters I'd sent to dear Mama over the years. Here's a snippet from one:
Funny chap, health. Colin3 (of recent-ish neighbours Colin and Vanessa) died of a sudden heart attack while on a business trip to Canada last week. Same age as me, smoked heavily, drank like a fish, worked very hard, and had to inject insulin daily. Made a great deal more money, too, as managing director of a smallish hi-tech company, but that's not much use to him now, I guess. Leaves two kids under ten whom he saw very little of. Very sad, and rather futile.
I had a different work/life balance, I suspect. Wonder if IBM still harps on about that so much in these days of austerity? I doubt it... Recall:
IBM now uses algorithmic assessment tools to sort employees worldwide on criteria of cost-effectiveness, but spares top managers the same invasive surveillance and ranking.
Who knew...
... that my supper — an unnameable concoction consisting of a multi-layered hot "sandwich" of thin pancakes interleaved with Opies luxury summer berry compote and chopped up pieces of roast chicken breast — would be quite so delicious? Well, I did; and have just been proved right. Yum. And my weight remains below 85 kg so I'm clearly failing to eat enough biscuits.