2008 — 24 Jan: Thursday: time for some more wittering
It's 00:24 and I got back from Cathy's retirement r********t dinner about 40 minutes ago. I must say BBC Radio 3's Late Junction provides a wonderful aural backdrop for an almost empty motorway. The dinner was most enjoyable and she picked a very congenial set of colleagues. Thanks, Cathy! Mind you, I've been warned to downplay the "R" word, (hence the asterisks) and also not to publish any of the photos I took until they've been approved.
As others see us (cont.)... department
It seems our Aged P has been just as reluctant to reply to Big Bro's letters over the years as she has been to reply to mine. I foresee saving a small fortune in postage stamps!
On a related theme, it turns out (according to my lunchtime companion) that the pair of us were spotted yesterday in The Pub with no name — we'd been admiring a red Ferrari1 (old style "L" registration circa 1974) that was driven by the parent(?) of one of Shelagh's pupils. Cue the phrase: can't go anywhere these days, or somesuch.
Time to retire — I mean go to bed. Need to be ready for the lunchtime drinkies...
Couldn't agree more... department
From a blog I've just stumbled across that is currently discussing how best to read the New Yorker magazine: pay attention at the back, there, Carol!
John Lahr is also a must read, legitimized not only by his keen writing, but his two letters of transit: his dad was the incomparable Bert Lahr and his wife is Connie Booth, co-author of the best sitcom ever made, Fawlty Towers, along with her then husband, John Cleese.
Now, see, where else could you learn a fact2 like that? (Connie Booth's new husband, that is. I already knew who John Lahr's father was.)
My next manoeuvre?
Not including brekkie ingestion, which is ongoing as I type, it will be backing the car safely out past next door's visitor's giant vehicle, and getting it over to the IBM Clubhouse car park, probably via Waitrose since I forgot to pick up a fresh pack of dead pig on my jaunt in to Lidl yesterday morning (which I see I concealed in yesterday's jotting behind the simple verb "shop" — how quickly the adventure of driving independently is becoming integrated into this new post-Christa life of mine). Well, at least the drizzle seems to have decided to go away for a while. Now, where did I put my IBM Hursley club membership card?
Back with about a minute to spare to 14:00 and my potential task as a chauffeur is stood down as Merv showed up for the drinks and can therefore give Cathy a lift home after she's settled her bar bill. The sky is a nice blue, the sun is shining and there's still time for another little adventure; report to follow should I happen to survive to tell the tale. Thanks to various "oldtimers" for the chats and good wishes — but do keep working, people, the economic crisis isn't improving if the latest news bulletin is any guide. Not even the new 007 film title helps (Quantum of Solace indeed) though I know Christa would have enjoyed seeing Daniel Craig again.
Extraordinary how potent cheap music is
Something said by the Master, of course. But who would have thought I could also be moved to tears by an itemised BT phone bill?! Not the amount (although it is pretty eye-watering). No, by the simple fact that it covered the period of Christa's final hospital and hospice stay, and thus showed all the calls I made to her in addition to the daily sets of visits. Talk about bringing it all back! Wow. Pity the poor chap from Apple Computers who chose just the wrong moment to call and offer to extend the one-year technical support that he tells me has now expired after eleven months (not that I've needed any support). Of course, I suppose I can now expect the iMac to fail next time I rouse it from its usual torpor. It must be one of the most expensive MP3 music servers in the locality for the very little use I'm currently making of it.
But about that adventure. I've taken the car through its first-ever car wash. I had no choice but to drive out to Harold Hillier's garden centre for a cup of tea and a slice of cake to get over that. And, without the cover of dirt, I can now see that some cad has dinked my nearside passenger door, the rotter!
Tomorrow's trivia
As part of my new Life policy of boldly going where no David has gone before (at least, not for quite a while) I've accepted a kindly invitation to "guest" on a Trivia Team (the "Ferret Fanciers", I believe) tomorrow evening. I last appeared from time to time as part of the winning "Killer Sprouts" team back in 1989, and still have the championship trophy to prove it!
Let's hope one or two factoids have remained glued to the inside of my cranium, and that the indexing and retrieval mechanisms are not too atrophied by recent upheavals in the life of this party animal! Speaking of which, although it's only 22:05 and it means missing SuziQ on Radio 2, I am completely cream-crackered, and therefore heading for bed. Nighty-night!