Somebody left a fresh Daily Mail in the staff kitchen and I couldn’t resist a little look. Apparently there is no middle aged middle class drinking at home problem; it is all young rogues drinking at home then going out and vomiting in the street. What else? Princess Diana was breathing before she died, allegedly. Allison Pearson cannot work, or is too frightened to try to work, the Blackberry her family gave her, or is making it up. The Mac cartoon is of a government minister dictating a statement about immigration and security. The joke is that the secretary is a man wearing robes, a turban and a beard. Perhaps it is meant to be our old friend Aaron Barschak?
My little green Castro cap from Cuba was soaked this morning. I am thinking of getting an umbrella. Apparently Mrs P’s mum has a gentleman’s black one to spare, but this means waiting until we visit the south coast on 14th December. Until then I can wear my polyester huntsman’s cap with the earflaps, or my waxed wide brimmed hat that makes me look like an umbrella and/or a tit.
In the news: the Northern Rock bank is complaining because the people offering to buy it want to pay less than it is worth!
My colleague who broke her foot at the Christopher Cross concert, who was mostly sweet-natured and a good friend, and only incidentally used to drive me round the bend with crazy talk, died of a heart attack on a train at the end of last week. If not for her vegetarianism, Mrs P would probably have never started the Quorn stir-fries.
Well on Saturday we had our tea and biscuits in bed and then I went up to the post delivery office to collect some brown boots Mrs P had ordered in a Savile Row boutique. Obviously they came while we were at work. Now this is not "mail order", so what is it? Shop order mail delivery, or just mail delivery. This makes me think of take away/take out, which when you phone up and they bring it isn’t really. But "home delivery" is not catchy. I have long proposed "knock and pay" but few have taken it up. How about "ring and bring", or R&B for short? It already means at least two things.
For about a hundred quid, the boots are not very heavy. If you spent a hundred quid on CDs, you’d never get them home, at today’s prices.
I had two poached eggs on toast from bread that I thought was "artisan made" but was only "artisan inspired", but I enjoyed it anyway.
After our nap, with Jonathan Ross talking on the radio, we took down the porch lamp and replaced it with a PIR (something infra-red?) security light. I stand on the ladder swearing with aching arms, and Mrs P passes me the screwdrivers etc..
I sorted out papers and magazines, going back to last December. Mrs P did a raisin beer variation on bloody Nigella’s bashed chops with cider/mustard sauce and gnocchi, but we had spinach and something instead of horrid gnocchi.
On videotape, Friday’s C4 comedy pilot, Free Agents, with Stephan Mangan and Sharon Horgan, not as bad as some, but you couldn’t even see where any funny bits might have been supposed to be. As the first sixth of a slightly light-hearted drama about bereavement, failure, and sex it might have been all right. And then there was an hour of Poliakoff on the same sort of themes, with the usual ghostie music, some stock footage, and Ruth Wilson’s marvellous ducky gob and boomerang eyebrows, playing two characters, or parts anyway.
Listened to John Lee Hooker CD: Best of Friends, a compilation of tracks from The Healer and the four after that, plus three new tracks. Maybe Ry Cooder is right about English musicians. The Clapton Boogie Chillen is v. average. The Santana tracks keep reminding Mrs P of something, and finally she decides that it is Backstabbers by the O’Jays. I keep trying to concentrate on I Cover The Waterfront, with Van Morrison, but can’t. The Cooder tracks, This Is Hip and Big Legs, Tight Skirt (with Ike Turner on piano) are the best, though I’m In The Mood, with me and Mrs P doubling Hooker and Bonnie Raitt, goes the triple tracked vocal on the original one better, in a way.