2016 — 2 July: Saturday
I live in continued hope1 of having a relatively quiet day. Drying-out operations are almost complete in the books warehouse, but there have been a few casualties up there that are too damaged to salvage, and a few more that I'm discarding in any case. Quite why, for random example, I need (or ever felt I needed) a copy of Charles Fleming's well-told ghastly tales of Hollywood excess "High Concept" ...
... as personified by Don Simpson remains a mystery. The reviewer in Murdoch's "Sunday Times" somehow found it "gripping and hilarious". By contrast, I found it very, very sad. No matter; I'm sure my DB will show the results of the recent water course in due course.
It's sunny...
... and pleasantly cool, this morning. Though whether that means (as the Starks of Winterfell would express it) "Winter is coming" remains to be seen. I noted, but did not follow, a story about the Jet stream crossing the equator.
I notice...
... science superstar Brian Cox is spinning his new TV series from the same 1611 book (more of a pamphlet, actually) I mentioned a while back.
Despite my life-long enjoyment...
... of the gentle satire of Guareschi's little (Catholic v. Communist) world of "Don Camillo" I ignore religion. Chanting and singing meaningless garbage as a child? No thanks. Attending Sunday school? No thanks. "Religious Knowledge / Instruction" classes in 'junior' and 'grammar' school, and mandatory prayers and hymns during "Morning Assembly"? Ludicrous! Then in 1969, a peripatetic vicar tried to instruct a captive audience of engineering apprentices in Astwick Manor. No thanks.
Ian Jack's piece mentions a speech made by one of Roald Dahl's horrible "flogging masters" at Repton. By the magic of the UK's fragrant Establishment this chap ended up as Archbish of Canterbury, opining in a speech 55 years or so ago that a nuclear holocaust would do no more than:
"sweep a vast number of people at one moment from this world into another and more vital world, into which anyhow they must pass at one time"
An outrageous extract from Christopher Logue's memoir ("Prince Charming") describes the tenor of those troubled times. Don't miss the exchange between the then 89-year-old Lord Russell and the magistrate sentencing "political offenders" such as he to prison. [Pause] Now I'm listening to a BBC correspondent in Islamabad saying mullahs opine that "it's OK for a man to lightly beat his wife".
This afternoon's heavy shower...
... doesn't seem to have breached my repaired roof defences, nor managed to overwhelm my new guttering. A month ago would have been a different kettle of soggy fish. [Pause] Hark! I now hear thunder. Deep joy. Still, at least there's no longer a tempting high-rise FM antenna up above my roof line for lightning to zap.
My current overdose...
... of Brexit news yields neither happiness nor peace of mind. To hell with it!
Rather than fight Linux Mint 18 (after scouring the Release Notes for "gotchas") I've turned to the unscaled peaks of George Martin's fat "Game of Thrones" books. I only managed to finish the first volume last time I tried. 330 pages "back" into it, I'm enjoying it much more this time.
My book cull is gathering pace, too. I have three criteria:
- Will I ever read, finish reading, or re-read, this?
- Will I even understand this?
- Has water ruined it?
Criterion #2 mostly applies to books bought for, or by, Christa. Sentimental value is all very well, but it doesn't clear shelf space, does it? [Pause] Should I offer a small prize to the first person to identify a title by this back-cover blurb?
Ironic?
A planned raffle, by a gun shop in Chicago, of a semiautomatic rifle — in aid of the Orlando nightclub massacre victims — has been stopped. Not on grounds of poor taste, but of uncertain legality.