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I seem to be getting the hang of the Canon (even if I say so myself) and didn’t have any obviously duff shots, which makes a pleasant change. I’m not suggesting that all the photos are good enough for framing - not by a long shot - but at least they’re in focus!
Photos are after the jump: More »
Throughout the course of human history there have been key moments which have clearly defined the course of future events. Forks, if you wish, in the timeline.
Science Fiction authors are especially fond of following the “other” fork and describing what might have been - with no finer example of the genre, in my opinion, than that offered in Harry Harrison’s “A Transatlantic Tunnel, Hurrah!” (I’d lend you my copy if I could find it, but you could always get your own copy)
How might the world be today, for example, had the Reichschancellor not replied “Jawohl - warum nicht?” to the suggestion that Germany could extend its living room to the east?
Going back further still, how might the map of Europe have been affected had Napoleon not replied “Ah, oui - pourquoi pas?” to the suggestion that Russia appeared ripe for the plucking?
Even in my lifetime, things may well have panned out differently had Dubya and Tone not replied “Yeah - why not?” to the suggestion they give Hans Blix time to finish his search for weapons of mass destruction.
It really makes you think, doesn’t it?
Anyway.
There has been a fork in the timeline. It didn’t take place in one of the world’s great capitals but, rather, in a small barber’s shop in sleepy Aaalburgh on a scorching April afternoon. “Scorching April afternoon”? That can’t be right, can it?
Ok, ok, I’ll get back to the narrative.
It was I who gave the fateful response. The question I’d just been asked was “All over?”
You can imagine the rest for yourself, but if you really, really want to have a laugh at my expense, click on More »
Is it me, or is comment spam getting weirder? (Yes, the title comes from one of those which failed the I-am-not-spam test). Bizarre.
Almost a week without a post - and people thought I was getting obsessive about the blog. I can give it up at any time.
<twitch>
Any time at all.
<twitch> <twitch>
This week, then, I have mostly been …
… laughing at/with Ferny the Goth. She has a gift for the unfortunate turn of phrase or action which has led to mucho merriment. It’s a shame that I can’t really share them with you all as, in most cases, you had to be there.
Oh, ok. Just the one two.
I was wearing a shorter than usual shirt yesterday. Short enough that I felt unable to have a good stretch in case it rode up and showed my voluminous body. I was explaining my curious lowered-arms stretch to Flash.
“I have to be careful not to get FtG too excited,” I quipped.
“Yes, I might get so excited I’d slide off my chair.”
Our jaws dropped and we both just stared at her. It was a definite did-she-really-say-what-I-think-she-said moment.
“I’ve gone too far again, haven’t I?”
“Do you remember how we had that conversation about “The Line” and how you should try not to cross it?”
“Yes. Why don’t you stop me?”
“Stop you?” I pointed at the line where our desks join. “If this is the line, you pootle along quite happily like this …” (my finger traced a path parallel to the joint, keeping an inch or so away) “… and then before I know what’s happening, you’re here” (my finger shooting across the joint and pointed at a spot six inches over the line). “I’d stop you if I could, Ferny, but there’s just not enough time to do so.”
She was a little quiet for the rest of the afternoon.
This morning the subject of running came up in conversation.
“I don’t do running.” announced FtG. “I prefer to jump up and down,” and proceeded to demonstrate. Bounciness ensued.
I swear I tried my hardest to maintain eye contact. Really, I did.
She stopped quickly. “I’ve gone too far again, haven’t I?”
“Well, maybe. I can’t say I’m complaining, though. Do you remember saying you were enjoying working with us and that you’d never had colleagues like us?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can safely say that we’ve never had a colleague like you either.”
And that has to be the last time I mention FtG. If she finds this, I’m toast. Let’s move on.
This week I have also been …
… joining things.
The RSPB for one. I was a member last year but hadn’t got around to renewing, so I’ve finally done so online and set up a direct debit so I don’t have to remember again next year. I then made the mistake of just taking a look at the online shop. It’s amazing how quickly the total due reached £60. Hopefully with all these nice feeders in place I’ll be able to attract a better variety of visitor to rARsh Manor. Now I just need to place an order for some wiggle wiggler goodies.
The reason for this renewed interest? On my way back from Torchwood Town last weekend I’d called in on Wuglums and LSLP where we’d adjourned to their garden. They have a selection of feeders and were attracting some interesting visitors which I just don’t seem to see here in Norfolk - a nuthatch, greenfinch, a selection of tits and even a dunnock. Unfortunately although I’d packed my tripod for the trip to Wales, I’d not taken my huge lens … and the 200-500mm Tamron “beast” had the tripod’s shoe attached, rendering the shoeless part pretty much useless. Darn. I had to shoot hand-held, then, with the 70-300mm Tamron “mini-beast” and in the late afternoon light I just couldn’t hold the camera steady enough to get any decent shots. The photos below are a pretty good example of the better results.
The image on the right is a 1:1 crop from the photo in the middle, of course. I’m fairly confident that with a tripod and just a smidge more light I could have gone some rather decent photies. We’ll just have to wait and see.
What else?
Oh yes. Signed up for the National Trust, too, so a return trip to Anglesey Abbey may be on the cards for tomorrow. Much more fun than tidying up and/or looking for my passport, at least.
That’s Saturday sorted. How about Sunday?
Well, Stubby was - strangely enough - dropping hints that she might be free on Sunday. I’m not sure why and will not be holding my breath waiting for a call. It was all a little odd, to tell the truth. Besides, I’ll have tidying (and/or searching for my passport) to do. And may be washing my hair.
We’ll see. Come back soon(ish) for the next thrilling instalment of “The Life of Lionel”. It’s all go.
One of us had a restless night, tossing and turning enough to make their back twinge this morning.
One of us, however, had a restful night and has been devouring all the tasty morsels placed before him.
Parents. eh? I recommend not having them if you can help it.
Yes, I know it’s gone 2am but I can’t sleep.
I went back to Stalag Pentwyn to drop off a couple of things and to see how dad was settling.
Not good. Agitated. Lost. Bewildered. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Logically it’s definitely the best place for him to be - 100% better than Chateau Llandough - but goodness knows when (or if) he’ll see it. The staff seem great, I must say. I suppose it’s less traumatic if the patients - why can’t they say “residents” or “guests”? - aren’t their relatives.
I’m not looking forward to going back tomorrow. I mean today.
Looks like it’s going to be a long night.
Fuck.
I have exciting news.
After weeks of tentative and wide-ranging negotiations, I’m delighted to announce that this very site will be relaunched next week as Britain’s No.1 Ultimate Toddler Fighting Championship fan site.
It’s going to be great, isn’t it?
Come climb aboard my handcart. Don’t worry - we’ll all be there soon.
“Be there at half past twelve,” they’d told me, “as the ambulance may be early.”
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
On Monday I received a call from Stalag Pentwyn. Stalag Pentwyn offers secure accommodation for confused people who are prone to wandering and, as a new facility - it only opened its doors in January - is far and away the most pleasant of those which Wuglums and I found in our long quest for somewhere other than Chateau Llandough. After all, Chateau Llandough were keen to get the bed back, it having been occupied by dad for the past eleven months1.
Anyway, I received a call from Stalag Pentwyn on Monday. They’re gradually building up the number of residents (taking on staff, training them up and then introducing one or two new residents, taking on more staff, etc.) and the manager told me that they would shortly be able to take Dad in. Good news, I though. All she had to do was speak to Chateau Llandough and check that the needs hadn’t changed since Dad’s assessment and then a date could be set for the move.
On Wednesday, I decided to call Stalag P to see how they’d got on in their talk to the hospital.
“Haven’t you heard from Chateau Llandough?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh, they said they’d be getting in touch with you. We’re all set for Friday.”
‘Friday? Friday as in two days’ time?‘ I shieked inwardly. Then outwardly.
“Friday? Friday as in two days’ time?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
It’s fortunate for me that Tall Andy is a very nice chap. A very, very nice chap (as they’d say at a former employer of mine). Last night saw me make the trip “out west” while twelve thirty this afternoon found me on the ward.
“Be there at half past twelve,” they’d told me, “as the ambulance may be early.”
I admit I was doubtful but couldn’t risk being proved wrong. It was, of course, twenty past one before the ambulance/patient transfer vehicle turned up. Beh.
We installed dad in the PTV and then the driver worried me.
“Stalag Pentwyn. Where is that, exactly? It’s not on our maps. Nor the Fire Service’s.”
This is a little worrying - I am relieved that the ban on smoking indoors is in force here in the Principality.
“Don’t worry. I know where it is - I drove past it last night, to check, and have it programmed into my SatNav.”
“Ok, we’ll follow you, then.”
And off we set. All was going well until the ambulance overtook me on Eastern Avenue.
…
Still, dad’s there now. Confused, of course, but the move actually went far smoother than I’d expected. I’d forgotten to take his walking stick so he was a little unsteady, so I’ll be popping back over later, having given him some time to get to meet the other 13 residents and the very pleasant staff.
It’s going to be an “interesting” weekend.
1 Eleven months? Bloody hell.
http://www.channel4.com/errors/error_apps_tech.html is unavailable, please contact system administractor. [an error occurred while processing this directive]
What’s an administractor?
I was trying to install the 4oD “on demand” TV viewer (because I missed last Friday night’s “Peep Show“). Two attempts to install led to “unknown error” failures - there’s helpful. My third attempt generated the error above. Bah.
Anyway - have you missed me? At all?