It rained. The sheep got wet.

Thursday July 31, 2008

Today we went to Burnham-on-Sea for lunch and a stroll.  It rained, intermittently, and, between heavy showers, the humidity was almost wetter than the rain.

 

Between showers, Burnham-on-Sea

 

Having regard to the way people around the western world seem to be meekly accepting of the way our lives are being impacted by the economic incompetence of our leaders, and so blindly accepting of their assurances, I’m reminded strongly of a rather bleak quote from a not-so-long-ago political leader:

…the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy.
All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country.”

–Hermann Goering, Nazi Reichsmarschall

In my more angry moments I wish the same fate upon our contemporary politicians as was visited upon the Reichsmarschall.  Let’s hope that we sheep-like people do not have to suffer in such depth  before the system rebalances itself.

Colour me grey

Wednesday July 30, 2008

Today’s glad tidings include the news that our domestic fuel prices–electricity and heating/cooking gas–are to increase with immediate effect by 17 and 35 percent respectively.  Time to turn down the thermostat another three degrees, look out the winter woolies, and relearn winter stodge recipes.

‘Poridge oats–central heating for old age pensioners’.

Seriously, this is going to have a really rather severe effect on my budget.  The likelihood of my pensions being increased pro-rata is not favourable, so my savings will have to bear the load once more.  Year on year, it becomes more difficult to balance income against outgoings.

A depressing arithmetic, and one which has coloured my day.  Bound to, really.

They don’t make ‘em like that any more

Tuesday July 29, 2008

Doesn’t seem fair, really.  All those long, hot, sunny days while Graham was working and now, on his first day home, it’s turned to rain.  Grey skies and rain of the torrential kind.

“I don’t mind,” he said.  “It’s cooler, and it gives me all the excuse I need to stay home and do as little as possible.”

I can’t really argue with that, though I would like a nice day out somewhere not too far away before the end of the week.  Even if it means going out in the rain.

 

 

They just don’t make ‘em like that any more.  Or this, come to that:

 

 

Hey ho.

In the middle of my siesta

Monday July 28, 2008

He said he’d try and finish early this week but I got a great shock when he phoned just before three this afternoon and said:  “Wake up, have a cup of coffee, and come fetch me.”

Which is what I did.

It’s nice to have us all three at home on a Monday evening, in full daylight.  Even if it does mean I’ve lost out on the time needed to make a journal entry.

Not that much has happened, externally or internally.  Beyond being woken in the middle of my siesta, that is.

Where the hell are we?

Sunday July 27, 2008

I’m not sure that I’ve mentioned it before, this time round.  Seems to me that the last time I moaned about the weather it was because I thought our summer had deserted us.

I was wrong.

 I’ve lost count of the hot days we’ve had in a single run.  It was a hot one, the record high of the summer, I think it was, on Thursday when we went to Taunton. It’d been building up then, and it’s been hot ever since.

To be honest, though, it doesn’t make much difference to Dolly and me.  We stay home with the blinds drawn and the fans running, and venture out only early in the morning and late in the evening to fill our lungs with fresh air.  Just as this is a warm house in winter, it’s a cool house in summer, so long as you get the ventilation right.

And, when I do have to venture out, the air-conditioning in the car keeps me from being frazzled on the way to and from the air-conditioned monster supermarket just over a mile away.

I’m doing fine.

There are people who must by now be feeling the strain and I feel for them, especially for those oldies who’ve not managed to give up the smoking, or left it too late.  I remember only too well the awful feeling that there’s not enough oxygen in the air.  I’ll be glad when the weather turns again, but not for any survival reasons.  I’d just like to spend an hour strolling out of doors, that’s all.

Today I played with the video editing software, and found a good .MOV to .AVI conversion tool, one that functions well under Windows Vista.  I have no complaints against Vista–it functions well and reliably doing the things I normally do.  It does seem picky and hostile when working with some software and hardware, that’s true, but I’m not overly concerned with that.

Graham, on the other hand, who has stuck with Windows XP all the way through, is just about at his wits end with the Windows world, and is experimenting carefully and cautiously with Ubuntu.  While sympathetic, and interested in his progress, I can’t see me going down the same path, not on this computer, anyway.  It’s bought, stable, and paid for.  It doesn’t give me any trouble, and that’s all I really need at this stage in my third age career as a computer user.

So, we get through these slow days, looking at the clock as the hour approaches when I allow myself my first glass of wine.  Alright, it’s an hour earlier in the evening when I’m here on my own but that’s understandable, surely.

There’s no forgiveness in us, I’m certain of it, without understanding and fellow-feeling.  And, without forgiveness, where the hell are we?

There ought to be a law against it

Saturday July 26, 2008

Status on our sale:  everyone in the chain is engaged earnestly upon a recognisable task in the process.  Things are progressing, but slowly.

Status on our purchase:  our solicitor and the seller’s solicitor are building up the basic set of documents, waiting on the results of the council and other searches.  Progress is regular, the slowness down to the time the council takes to perform its duties.

Status at home:  I’ve given our agent a jiggle for the last time.  Graham will be doing that job from now on.

Overall:  The sale is stuck in the mid-term doldrums while the purchase is moving ahead at a more normal rate.  It begins to look as though the purchase is catching up with the sale, which ought not to happen.  At this rate we’ll be doing a coordinated move, straight from here to the house in Wales in one operation, most likely on the same day and without an interim stay in the caravan.  No reason to panic or even to worry unduly.

That “no reason to panic or even to worry unduly” note is the reason I’ve handed over operations to Graham–I found myself worrying too much, and teetering on the edge of panic with the whole affair.

Hmm.

I dug my reading spectacles out yesterday evening to work out what I’d done wrong on the video yesterday.  I’m pretty sure I’ve sussed my problem and the video setting seems to function perfectly when I press the right button.

The digital camera does a good video, better by far than my Sony mini-tape video camera.  Furthermore, the anti-shake processing seems to work on the video setting just as well as it does with stills;  a good thing when your hands shake like mine do.  The only real drawback to the whole thing is YouTube, which is a slow as deep-frozen molasses when handling a .MOV file.  Not as slow as QuickTime, but enough to interrupt the production process.

Graham called late last night, having succeeded finally in chasing the last four accordionists into the night at about 12:45.  With only a short break in the afternoon, he’d been on duty since a little before nine the previous morning.

“Hopefully we’ll have disappeared into the sunset before they come back in the autumn,” I said.  “I’m not sure you could take another week of them.”

“It’s not just a week,” he said.  “They’re doing a fortnight.”

“Good heavens,” I said, or something with much the same meaning.  “There ought to be a law against it.”

Sometimes it works…

… and sometimes it doesn’t.  I lined up my camera and a can of ice-cold peach halves in apple juice, and my brand new can opener.  Pressed ‘video’, and started recording the opening of the first can, commenting in my very best dulcet tones.

Well.  It recorded the first bit.  And the last bit, and nothing in between.  I shall have another go when I’ve a fancy for ice-cold canned fruit.

 

 

My resistance is low

Thursday July 24, 2008

I just now turned off the TV after tuning in to listen to US Senator Barack Obama’s speech in Berlin.  Sorry, guys, I’m not impressed.  If the bloke has depth, if he has a sound and balanced knowledge and view of the world outside of America, he did not show it this evening.

Hey ho.  Another strangeness of American politics I do not understand.

Anyway.  What have I been up to?

Yesterday all my efforts and attention were concentrated on getting the car through the first of its annual tests (flying colours, not a single warning) and then securing the road tax for the coming twelve months.  Total cost:  £189.95.  I understand that the road tax portion will decrease next year to take account of the comparatively low emission figures attached to the Ford Fiesta.  Just as well.  The annual base cost of motoring is getting to be close to £580 before getting a mile out of even a small, modest vehicle like mine.  Add the depreciation figure for the car into that and the sums just don’t bear thinking about. Not depressing, exactly, but certainly not cheer-worthy.

As I paid my bill and walked out of the testing station clutching my certificate of roadworthyness I cracked the testing guy up by remarking that it was the first of nine such pieces of paper for this car.  “I keep my cars for thirteen years from new,” I said.  “Whether they need it or not.”

And, today, to Taunton, to buy Graham a nice new jacket to go with his new ‘grown-up’ image.  Some guys as they approach the end of their 40s go for the denim and long white hairiness image.  Others move slowly but surely towards a smoother, more civilised vision of themselves.

“What do you think of it,” he asked as he posed in front of the full-length Marks & Spencer mirror.

“Looks smooth,” I said.

“How do you mean, smooth?”

“Well, sort of like a middle-aged poet.”

“Good.  That’s exactly what I’m after.”

“But you don’t like poetry.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

And I suppose he’s right.  Yes, I’m certain he’s right.  He’s allowed to look like a middle-aged poet.  It’s quite an appealing image.  Just so long as he doesn’t start reading and writing the darn stuff.  Cruelty I can take.  Irony is another matter.

Ah well, as the man says, Resistance is futile;  impedance is more complicated.

Photo madness #1

Someone has to take note, and I’m perfectly willing to do it.

The latest public place photography ban report to come my way is in Southampton, UK, where two OAPs, aged 82 and 69 were ordered by a council official to stop taking photographs of a deserted paddling pool.

Yer wot?

Haiku One

Wednesday July 23, 2008

 

no haiku in urbania unless you count the gulls winging between brick houses