Like, say, hearing that a youngster you care about is on the mend and out of hospital after a serious health problem. Yay!
Or, of course, spending quite a lot of money on a lovely lovely car - not new, but posh, and infinitely better than the dog-spittle covered shed you currently drive…
Ran three laps of the Common with Desdog, and glory be; it was twenty degrees and sunny at the tail end of October. Wow. What a lovely feeling. I’m sure some schmos will blame it on yer global warming. Whatever, it was lovely. And guess what? Some excercise beyond the weekly footy has left my mood unmistakably lifted. Why is it, then, that I can’t get my arse in gear more often to get the heart rate elevated? Dunno. Lots of people have made good money writing books and making videos about it.
Off to bid on eBay for yet more backup hardware… I swear, backups are turning into a fetish.
Ever since shooting this week’s Photo Friday entry I’ve had the brain-rotting tune of “The Final Countdown” by Europe in my head.
Hee hee! Now you’ve got it too…
Enough said.
The local search for toastboy.co.uk, based around htDig, is nearly done. Until then, amigos…
It’s amazing how evocative smells can be. A restoration project has meant that I sat today for an hour whilst watching the Chinese GP shining bits of metal with good old Duraglit. It reminds me of my dear old Grandad, and being in his garage “helping” him with one of his various projects. I still don’t exactly know what distinguishes a Whitworth thread from a normal one.
He had a real treasure trove in that garage in the house next door to ours while I was growing up: how many garages these days not only have a solid wooden set of benches but also an inspection pit? That’s what comes of having your house built to your specifications, in a time where that was even remotely possible for someone who really wasn’t that posh.
I don’t have old tobacco tins full of second-hand nuts and bolts for any grandson I might have to sort for me, and somehow I feel the poorer for it.
Oh dear. It would appear Desdog, not content with his incontinence (chiz), is now lame in one foreleg. He was doing his usual mentalist impession on our walk this morning when he pulled up with a yelp and refused to put any weight on his front left paw. He won’t let me anywhere near it to check what’s wrong, but I’m guessing (hoping) it’s a sprain. Given that a bread poultice would be eaten in seconds, I suppose we can do nothing but wait to see how it is in the morning. He has been known to be a drama queen, milking ailments for all the sympathy they’re worth, but I reckon this is the real deal. The acid test will be when it’s time for the walk tomorrow…
I reckon we’ll regret the extra dollop of curry paste I used in the green chicken curry and Kang Pa chicken I cooked for dinner tonight: the Kang Pa in particular was mentally hot.
Nah, mate, if you get caught and banged up, they don’t let you vote!
Don’t make me larf.
Well, the lure of free pizza was too much and I went into the office. Normally these days I work from home. Sometimes I have to slum it with a mere 21″ CRT :-<. Given I haven’t played footy this week and I was going to pig out on 1000+ calories of meat feast loveliness, I thought I’d cycle. 10.4 miles later, and I was ready for that pizza.
I’m going to have to do that plenty more times before January, when I return with joy in my heart and a spring in my step, to Morzine. I have to lose *mutter* kilos to be the proper weight for my snowboard and to be fit enough to turn the bugger. If I get fit and light enough, I’m going to treat myself to a Never Summer Legacy 166. Couple that with my Flow bindings and you’ve a recipe for pleasant plank-balancing.
