2010 — 3 November: Wednesday
And this morning, the North American political landscape looks a little darker.1 Actually, this is the first time I've listened to the 08:00 news on BBC Radio 4 for over three years. Has nothing changed?
Tea, Mrs Landingham. Quickly!
Are we feeling...
... increased security yet?
When I made this request, a number of TSA officers, to my surprise, began laughing. I asked why. One of them — the one who would eventually conduct my
pat-down — said that the rules were changing shortly, and that I would soon understand why the back-scatter2 was preferable to the manual search.
I asked him if the new guidelines included a cavity search.
"No way. You think Congress would allow that?"
I answered, "If you're a terrorist, you're going to hide your weapons in your anus or your vagina." He blushed when I said "vagina."
"Yes, but starting tomorrow, we're going to start searching your crotchal area" — this is the word he used, "crotchal" — "and you're not going to like it."
"What am I not going to like?" I asked.
"We have to search up your thighs and between your legs until we meet resistance," he explained.
"Resistance?" I asked.
"Your testicles," he explained.
Where America leads, of course, the UK has an unappealing (some might say "appalling") tendency to follow.
It's 09:29. A small sunny expotition beckons. Report to follow.
He's back
Although I'm rapidly approaching the third anniversary of Christa's death3 I see no reason on a fine, sunny morning, not to whizz down to the seaside and stroll out along the pier at Bournemouth. If only to check up on the continued presence of the Isle of Wight and Durlston Head. Both were clearly visible for a change this morning. Rather more dismally, I note that the "Borders" bookshop is turning into a Tesco Metro, and the John Menzies (I don't usually venture up that particular hill these days) is now a branch of "Game".
It's 12:57 and has become rather grey out there, but it was a soul-soothing trip. And one we would certainly have made together on a day like this. Crikey — I've just realised that it's four years to the day since my last day in IBM. Amazing, this Time chap. Christa's friend Ute in the Canaries has just passed along a little poem "Cranky Old Man" somewhat on that theme. Rather than reproduce it, I shall merely point to one of its many incarnations on the Interweb.
Moving right along, the spoof snippet here tickled me. Click the pic.
Now then... how about some lunch? [Pause] Guitarist John Williams has been playing live in the Radio 3 studio. The first albums I bought of his were "Changes" and "The Height Below" back in 1973 and 1974 — all the tracks on these have now appeared on a more recent double CD that recently passed through my artwork scanning process...
Scary stuff, Time. Indeed, it's nearly time for my evening meal. And it's pitch-dark out there, too. Ugh.
How does tripling university fees allow students from the poorest homes to attend the best universities? What am I missing? Election manifesto pledges are apparently without meaning. Grrr.
Later
Now half-listening to talk of a "new, improved" (PLX 4032) anti-cancer drug after finishing Season #4 of Boston Legal and then listening to a slightly shouty discussion (the BBC would probably prefer to see it described as a "debate") about security versus liberty that resonated strongly with the final episode of the zany folk at Crane, Poole & Schmidt.