Of March. That was quick. Now I can stop thinking of song titles for everything. A small prize* for the first person correctly to identify all the artists of the song titles used this month. Covers are acceptable, but where there is any possibility of confusion they have to be the songs I was thinking of at the time, and the judge (i.e. mine)’s opinion is final.
* This may not be entirely true.
This morning I went to collect my new glasses. When first I put them on I was somewhat taken aback – everything was suddenly so sharp. I feared I may cut myself at any moment. I’d known I needed new glasses for a while, but I hadn’t realised quite how much. Anyway, here is a very bad picture of them:
Doesn’t my face look fat? How awful. As you can see they have transitions lenses – no more carrying around two pairs of specs. Yay! I like them a lot, and I can see properly again. Woo!
Because they’re Oakleys (coiners of one of my favourite words in the name of the material from which they make their ear grips, Unobtanium) one also gets a rather natty case that looks a bit like a small bomb:
Which is nice.
So on Thursday night I watched Carol Thatcher take a trip to the Falklands on the 25th anniversary of the war. Initially it was tempting to think that she fitted in quite well on a more Southerly version of the Isle of Wight – the same whiff of inbred isolationist madness only with more land mines. But once away from the braying demi-officials of this Imperial relic and in conversation with the bereaved, one wasn’t even sure of that. Particularly striking was a woman who hadn’t lived there before the war but who had moved there after her son had died defending the place. They went out to the memorial commemorating the battle. The weather had beaten it so hard that it looked far older than its years. That seemed somehow fitting.
Carol didn’t seem to know what to say, as if this were utterly alien. The soldier’s mother bore the ravages of experience. Thatcher was merely one of a pair of useless offspring. Either her human nature is genetic or it has withered through underuse.
In this respect she had one thing in common with the war veterans and widows CT was later to meet in Argentina. Here the mask of journalistic legitimacy fell away and she showed herself to be some way removed from actual human status. “Just like her mother” one bereaved mother rasped. She was right.
One consolation early on was to shout “Welease Wodjer” at the screen – if only her mother had had that voice, how we might all have been spared. Even that entertainment hollowed after a while however. To see at close quarters the making of history – to have inherited so much and learned so little. That she had to go so far to find anyone else who loved her mother says a lot. That she found so many who didn’t so nearby shows what a bubble she lives in.
I’ve mentioned before my love of little milestones on the Long March to Freedom that is The Plan™. The observant among you may have noticed the countdown timer to the lower right hand side of this page. A quick Yay, then, for the fact that as of tomorrow I shall be able to talk about having less than two years to go. Still a long time, I know, but in years at least, it’s one less 
And that, dear friends, is a scientific FACTOID.
Last wednesday I was tipped off about probably the only optician in town I’d never been to, so on thursday lunchtime I went for a look at their wares. Some of you may be aware of the by-now epic saga of my attempt to buy a new pair of glasses that has been ongoing now for at least two years. Fashion has, as ever, taunted me for the last few years by steadfastly dictating that 99% of all glasses manufactured will be in the shape of 90 degree right-angled rectangles, something that doesn’t really suit me at all. I simply haven’t been able to find anything I like. Of late things had become more urgent though, as my eyesight has suffered and brought with it headaches and eyestrain. New glasses were now a requirement that could no longer be put off.
So I went to McGrath’s on Queensferry Road and, believe it or not, found a pair I quite liked. They suited me, I thought, and they were comfy and a good colour. I needed a second opinion. So yesterday when Adele found herself in town on a shopping mission, she offered to come and have a look. And what do you know? She liked them too. Yay! My own opinion officially verified by an honest, independent and (importantly) female one. The relief was tempered only by the frankly enormous price tag. But no matter. This has taken ages, and needs to be done. Not the least because, having had my eyes tested (by sheer good fortune they had a cancellation that afternoon), it turns out that my current prescription is now quite a lot too strong. Yes, I am actually somewhat less blind than I used to be. I’ve always been long-sighted, only now of a better quality 
So, hoorah for that. I shall post a picture of them in situ when they are done, probably in a week or two.
On thursday morning my usual routine, fine-tuned now to the point where I don’t actually have to wake up properly to negotiate it, was derailed by a sudden almost-but-not-quite total disappearance of water pressure in the flat. This occasionally happens during the summer when, love them, the council fill up a water tanker from the mains in the street round the corner at about 7 in the morning, or more rarely when the mains bursts. No sign of either today, which is odd, but it (a) woke me up rather abruptly and (b) allows me to get in the title of this rather excellent song
Ok, so I have a little catching up to do. I’ve been too lazy to post in real time this week, so I shall be writing all the things I thought of during the week but was too busy/idle to write then.
Last weekend I played my first ever live game of poker. A workmate of mine, who is a big poker player himself, has an occasional game at his (very nice) house up in Stirling and last Saturday was the latest of these. There were 20 people altogether starting on two tables and it was all very organised – real-time game control software, networked between computers in the two game rooms, table balancing and kill tracking, all that good stuff. For my part I was largely along for a good night out, which it very much was, thanks to the excellent and generous hospitality afforded by our host. I hadn’t actually played a game of poker even online for about six months – I confess I’d lost a little interest. This was great fun though and besides the cards there was plenty of food and booze to help things along.
As it turned out I ended up seventh, largely by the expedient of playing an extremely conservative game. In the end I got to the point where I was running low on chips, one of the problems with that strategy if you don’t win a big hand or two. Going for broke on an off-suited King and Jack, I got done by my opponent’s extra pair of sixes over a shared pair of Jacks. La la. It was quite a relief to be able to stop concentrating to be honest, and I’d got as far as I was going to anyway.
To add to the fun, we got pulled over by a couple of bored plod on the way home coming down Ferry Road in a sudden snow storm. I think they needed someone to talk to. Fortunately our driver had been very restrained during the evening, although it was further evidence of the alleged curse on the luck of the tournament winner, Al having triumphed not an hour or so earlier.
A belated happy birthday to Dave, whose birthday it was this Thursday just gone. Jan has taken him away (or rather, told him where to drive them) on a surprise trip somewhere for the weekend, so as to spoil him within an inch of his life, no doubt. No-one has any idea where they’ve gone, so we await tales of decadence when they return. So, happy birthday Dave, wherever you are
Yes, folks, it’s that time of the month again. Last Monday being payday, and having dutifully allotted another wedge to the cause, it’s time for another Motivational Present. Not much glamour to this one I’m afraid (unlike all the others, obviously) since it’s something I actually needed anyway. Maybe I’ll supplement it with a little frivolous extra if I see one. Anyway, my two favourite pairs of headphones have both broken in the past month, so it was time for a new pair. Now I know what you’re saying – “What’s a man with one functioning ear doing buying stereo headphones?” Fair question, and one to which I reply, as always, “Ever tried buying one?” Quite. And so much for that.
My quandary, as always, is that I don’t want to buy rubbish, but there’s no point spending shedloads on top-notch kit (see above). So, having flirted briefly with Sennheisers, I opted for these:
Sony, as so often, then. The thing I like about these (same as one of my old pairs, more or less) is the shaped earpieces that fit quite well, and the bass-boost, which means they sound fairly decent. Well, one side does anyway. And – look! – they come with a nice ickle draw-string velour-lined bag that you’ll never be arsed to use. Nice thought though. My one complaint is that they no longer seem to come with gold connectors, but plain stainless steel ones. Bloody cheapskates.
I don’t like cricket. Oh no. At least, not the way we played it yesterday. As if the tri-nations series win over Australia had never happened, England reverted to type. KP’s decision that he’d spent enough time in the middle for one day prompted a ‘me too’ response from the entire middle order and yet again England tried to drum up support for their unilateral campaign to shorten the one-day game to 40 overs. Had it not been for a shock stand featuring Nixon, we’d have been laughed off. As it was, a total of sorts was posted and, at 18-3 and 72-4 it looked like we might even have a chance. Lethargy crept in, however, and until a brief but fruitless awakening near the end, when two clear chances were missed, they were ineffective. The game stuttered to an end nine overs early (or one over late, according to your point of view), and that was that.
So much for leaving work early to get home to watch the cricket then. We’ll probably still qualify for the Super Eights but that’ll be about it. La la.
