Month: April 2003

This story is rather sad.

Yay! It’s Friday! And am I ready for a weekend or what?
The problem with this weekend, however, is that I have to do some work (again it is for PFE, so that’s not so bad, but it stops me from getting out and enjoying the spring sunshine. But hopefully I’ll be getting my shiny new laptop soon, so will be able to work in the park), and tomorrow evening I have to go to a family birthday party.
I’m not a big fan of family events, except when they are immediate family. I find that I don’t have an awful lot in common with many members of my family (my cousin Gemma being a notable exception, but that’s as much to do with the closeness of our ages as anything – unfortunately, she won’t be there as she has broken her wrist while snowboarding). I don’t see many of them that often, so inevitably I end up fielding questions about my lovelife ("so, are you married yet? do you have a girlfriend?" etc.) and that’s about all. Nobody asks me what else I might be doing in my life – they wouldn’t think of me setting up a new business or anything like that, because they associate me with working at the nursery and imagine that that is all I’ll ever do.
Mind you, I am probably guilty when it comes to conversation the other way. Most of the family members who will be there are retired, and what do most retired people do all day? Sit around, watch TV, go to the shops, prod the garden. They are not the sort of people who would set themselves a challenging hobby, or go travelling extensively. So it is difficult to strike up conversation – there isn’t enough common ground.
So why am I going? Well, largely to support my mum, who isn’t really looking forward to it, I think (it is for her brother’s 70th birthday) – although having said that, once her family get together, everyone else has to put in earplugs because of the deafening chatter. So Tim, Jane and I will endeavour to be sociable on arrival, then find a quiet corner for the three of us. And since the party starts at 7pm, I reckon I can scarper shortly after 10 to get to the Nags for last orders.

oh yeh, I walked down the canal this evening. I’m going to try to do more walking to help lose a little weight. Of course, I immediately undid all the good work with a large serving of mussels in garlic and white wine sauce.

I am indebted to Dead Kenny for highlighting Jon Snow’s obituary for Gaby Rado in the Guardian. But wait! Isn’t that a little sideswipe at John Simpson in the first paragraph? Is an obituary the place for that?

Tomorrow’s meeting with Man From NatWest has been postponed and rescheduled for Monday morning. Gah. Yet more delay.

Stop! Stop! Forget all this rubbish about the war in Iraq and the SARS epidemic. The real news this week is that Carol Smillie cheated her MENSA test. Oooo, the dirty little scamp!

Spam. A pain in the arse.
And I mean junk e-mail, not the tinned processed meat.
But what is this thing now with getting spam advertising anti-spam software? Do they plan to bully us into purchasing submission by contributing (by my reckoning) about 10% of the spam problem?
Grr.

Am I the only one to think that Private Jessica Lynch will be as much harmed by the American (and other) media as she has been by battle?
Meanwhile, Matt is excellent once again:

Music purchase update: King Kooba’s NuFoundFunk and Mark Farina’s Mushroom Jazz 4 from Om Records. Result!

Hmm. Very large (and mean) calamari.