Incomprehension at distance

It is my custom to turn off my mobile over night so that no-one can call me and disturb the night's sleep. I figure that they can leave a message and that's the best way to deal with it. If it is important enough to call me at that time, it is also just as likely that I can do nothing but fret for several hours, so I may as well not know. By turning off the phone, people can feel happy that they've made the effort and I can get the news close to a time when I can do something with it.

So, as a rule, I turn my mobile off at night.

I think that I shall refine this rule and start turning it off around 11pm, unless there is some over riding reason to leave it on, such as an expected late arrival, or something.

What I am anxious to stop is the drunken phone call, the one where I am sober, can barely hear the conversation from the other side and can understand less. Those calls where it becomes rapidly clear that I do not have the relevant code book and after which through no fault of my own, as far as I can see, other than not being psychic, I end up feeling a complete heel because of the backwash of unspoken disappointment from the other end, simply because I cannot fathom out what I am supposed to say or not in a conversation that has rules of which I am entirely ignorant. More annoyingly, I know that only I feel this and it is an over reaction, but it kicks the stool out from under my equanimity and I shall sleep the worse for it.

So, all things being equal, 11pm is closedown time from now on.

Incomprehension at distance

It is my custom to turn off my mobile over night so that no-one can call me and disturb the night's sleep. I figure that they can leave a message and that's the best way to deal with it. If it is important enough to call me at that time, it is also just as likely that I can do nothing but fret for several hours, so I may as well not know. By turning off the phone, people can feel happy that they've made the effort and I can get the news close to a time when I can do something with it.

So, as a rule, I turn my mobile off at night.

I think that I shall refine this rule and start turning it off around 11pm, unless there is some over riding reason to leave it on, such as an expected late arrival, or something.

What I am anxious to stop is the drunken phone call, the one where I am sober, can barely hear the conversation from the other side and can understand less. Those calls where it becomes rapidly clear that I do not have the relevant code book and after which through no fault of my own, as far as I can see, other than not being psychic, I end up feeling a complete heel because of the backwash of unspoken disappointment from the other end, simply because I cannot fathom out what I am supposed to say or not in a conversation that has rules of which I am entirely ignorant. More annoyingly, I know that only I feel this and it is an over reaction, but it kicks the stool out from under my equanimity and I shall sleep the worse for it.

So, all things being equal, 11pm is closedown time from now on.

I bin buying stuff

I made the trip to the West End and back without getting too rained on. There have been some quite torrential downpours over the past 24 -48 hours, but periodic. London has by and large missed the fun that has rained down on the rest of the country. So apart from a mild dampening as I exited Leicester Square tube, my biggest worry was melting in the sticky heat, having elected to wear my antiaunt leather jacket (the Lufthansa pilot jacket, not my shiny Time Lord U-Boat Commander's jacket; it's far too warm for that).

Having picked up a couple of comics and magazines, I dropped into Fopp on Shaftesbury Avenue and spent a cheery time wandering around looking at the goodies for sale. £26 bought me the Moody Blues' Days of Future Passed and On The Threshold of a Dream, classics from 1967 and 1969 respectively. In addition, I acquired the Jefferson Airplane's Surrealistic Pillow, also from 1967 and Caravan's eponymous debut album from 1968. That lot amounted a mighty £23. I blew a further £3 on the collector's edition of National Lampoon's Animal House on DVD. For all you West Wing fans out there, an opportunity to see what Vice President John Hoynes did in his college days (I'd forgotten that!).

This minor fiscal transgression was brought to you by Bryan's credit card and the fact that I had earlier had an enjoyable conversation (for once) with Barclaycard. This because they had sent me a letter demanding immediate payment of £0.00 and warning me that failure to do so may have repercussions for my credit rating.

Hmm.

Ah well, once the last proper bill arrives from them, I shall pay them the £3.64 or so I owe them and then close the card down. That'll larn 'em!

I bin buying stuff

I made the trip to the West End and back without getting too rained on. There have been some quite torrential downpours over the past 24 -48 hours, but periodic. London has by and large missed the fun that has rained down on the rest of the country. So apart from a mild dampening as I exited Leicester Square tube, my biggest worry was melting in the sticky heat, having elected to wear my antiaunt leather jacket (the Lufthansa pilot jacket, not my shiny Time Lord U-Boat Commander's jacket; it's far too warm for that).

Having picked up a couple of comics and magazines, I dropped into Fopp on Shaftesbury Avenue and spent a cheery time wandering around looking at the goodies for sale. £26 bought me the Moody Blues' Days of Future Passed and On The Threshold of a Dream, classics from 1967 and 1969 respectively. In addition, I acquired the Jefferson Airplane's Surrealistic Pillow, also from 1967 and Caravan's eponymous debut album from 1968. That lot amounted a mighty £23. I blew a further £3 on the collector's edition of National Lampoon's Animal House on DVD. For all you West Wing fans out there, an opportunity to see what Vice President John Hoynes did in his college days (I'd forgotten that!).

This minor fiscal transgression was brought to you by Bryan's credit card and the fact that I had earlier had an enjoyable conversation (for once) with Barclaycard. This because they had sent me a letter demanding immediate payment of £0.00 and warning me that failure to do so may have repercussions for my credit rating.

Hmm.

Ah well, once the last proper bill arrives from them, I shall pay them the £3.64 or so I owe them and then close the card down. That'll larn 'em!