Nothing to do with Strictly Come Dancing

I wear glasses at work to lessen the strain of sitting in front of a PC screen all day. If my eyes get very tired I wear them to read, too, but only if my eyes are very tired. I rarely use them at home; they are only marginally stronger than plain glass.

So how come, having sat in their case all weekend since I last used them on Friday, they are gunked up and in need of a polish? How come they are like this every morning when I take them out of their case, when everything else in there is clean, including the cloths I clean them with? I am considering putting a webcam in my rucksack; I think there is a troll with a slight astigmatism living in there, which uses my specs when I don’t.

The morning commute was annoying today. Surprise. The line between home and London has been closed for engineering all weekend and Monday seems to have come as a bit of a shock to them, so all trains were delayed and my usual train, which starts at Ilford and which always has a seat or twenty available was a) packed to the rafters and b) moved slower than a snail with gout once it got moving. House to Westminster in fifty-five minutes. That’s about fourteen miles an hour on a ‘high speed’ line. Triffic.

I shall complete this grumble by observing that it was probably a mistake not wearing a hat and coat this morning. Winter is not here, but it’s sent its luggage along ahead.

A jollier update awaits once the coffee has kicked in, I would imagine.

Nothing to do with Strictly Come Dancing

I wear glasses at work to lessen the strain of sitting in front of a PC screen all day. If my eyes get very tired I wear them to read, too, but only if my eyes are very tired. I rarely use them at home; they are only marginally stronger than plain glass.

So how come, having sat in their case all weekend since I last used them on Friday, they are gunked up and in need of a polish? How come they are like this every morning when I take them out of their case, when everything else in there is clean, including the cloths I clean them with? I am considering putting a webcam in my rucksack; I think there is a troll with a slight astigmatism living in there, which uses my specs when I don’t.

The morning commute was annoying today. Surprise. The line between home and London has been closed for engineering all weekend and Monday seems to have come as a bit of a shock to them, so all trains were delayed and my usual train, which starts at Ilford and which always has a seat or twenty available was a) packed to the rafters and b) moved slower than a snail with gout once it got moving. House to Westminster in fifty-five minutes. That’s about fourteen miles an hour on a ‘high speed’ line. Triffic.

I shall complete this grumble by observing that it was probably a mistake not wearing a hat and coat this morning. Winter is not here, but it’s sent its luggage along ahead.

A jollier update awaits once the coffee has kicked in, I would imagine.

Morland in The Times

Today's Morland (the chap who alternates the cartoons with Peter Brookes) from the Times pretty much pegs the shortfalls of the new policy of compulsory work for the 'long term' unemployed.

I think this particular example particularly resonates with the public sector in the detail.

Morland in The Times

Today's Morland (the chap who alternates the cartoons with Peter Brookes) from the Times pretty much pegs the shortfalls of the new policy of compulsory work for the 'long term' unemployed.

I think this particular example particularly resonates with the public sector in the detail.

Nutter on the bus

On Saturday evening we caught a bus over to Walthamstow to meet westernind and forbinproject for a movie quiz. We didn’t do so bad in the first half, going in for oranges placed fourth out of about sixteen. Sadly, in the second half we were undone by our lack of in-depth knowledge of the cast lists of current releases – in many cases we didn’t even know the movie existed, much less who is in it – and an almost complete lack of knowledge (born from utter uninterest) of the drab Mike Leigh’s drab if prolific output.

For all that we fell away sharply at that point, we had a good time and I it is a shame that I shan’t be able to make the next one, which clashes with the annual GASPs weekend (see LJs passim). Maybe in January, then.

Poor old Simon was had some of the sparkle taken from the event by the fact that he was sitting next to a Glaswegian woman answering, we are led to believe, to the name Naz, who was that terrible combination of bored, outgoing and drunk, with no social graces at all. Her friends endured that equally sad combination of suffering from toe-curling embarrassment and no spines, so we pretty much to wait until alcohol and gravity took their toll.

She was not the only strange person we encountered. The bus journey over included a strange fellow two seats behind us who charitably, was deranged, or uncharitably was on drugs. Sitting alone, he passed from beatific smiles to annoyed snarls at the empty seat next to him, all the while punctuating events with the most appalling sniffing and snuffling. I watched his reflection in the bus window just in case, if you get my drift.

Sunday was spent doing very little other than shopping and mucking about on the computers. We did note that the squirrels in the back garden have discovered that we are victualing the bird feeders, of which one is a covered tray suspended from a branch of our cherry tree. I only saw one squirrel shimmy down the branch and summersault over onto the platform to fill his or her face. A little later I saw one or other of the pair jump up from the flower bed and get at the platform that way, but only Furtle has seen both squirrels at the same time. When she watched them, the one was already eating when the second jumped on and dislodged it, so the second could stuff its face. The ejectee apparently tried returning the favour and jumped back, but missed entirely, splatting on the patio instead and then retiring to nurse its pride. I should have liked to have seen that.

I have a couple of photos of one of the miscreants sitting in the bired feeder and once I can locate the leads, I shall copy them over to the PC from the camera and drop a picky on LJ.

In the evening we watched a bit of telly and played a bit of Warcrack and then suddenly it was today. Boo hiss and indeed, Chiz.

Nutter on the bus

On Saturday evening we caught a bus over to Walthamstow to meet westernind and forbinproject for a movie quiz. We didn’t do so bad in the first half, going in for oranges placed fourth out of about sixteen. Sadly, in the second half we were undone by our lack of in-depth knowledge of the cast lists of current releases – in many cases we didn’t even know the movie existed, much less who is in it – and an almost complete lack of knowledge (born from utter uninterest) of the drab Mike Leigh’s drab if prolific output.

For all that we fell away sharply at that point, we had a good time and I it is a shame that I shan’t be able to make the next one, which clashes with the annual GASPs weekend (see LJs passim). Maybe in January, then.

Poor old Simon was had some of the sparkle taken from the event by the fact that he was sitting next to a Glaswegian woman answering, we are led to believe, to the name Naz, who was that terrible combination of bored, outgoing and drunk, with no social graces at all. Her friends endured that equally sad combination of suffering from toe-curling embarrassment and no spines, so we pretty much to wait until alcohol and gravity took their toll.

She was not the only strange person we encountered. The bus journey over included a strange fellow two seats behind us who charitably, was deranged, or uncharitably was on drugs. Sitting alone, he passed from beatific smiles to annoyed snarls at the empty seat next to him, all the while punctuating events with the most appalling sniffing and snuffling. I watched his reflection in the bus window just in case, if you get my drift.

Sunday was spent doing very little other than shopping and mucking about on the computers. We did note that the squirrels in the back garden have discovered that we are victualing the bird feeders, of which one is a covered tray suspended from a branch of our cherry tree. I only saw one squirrel shimmy down the branch and summersault over onto the platform to fill his or her face. A little later I saw one or other of the pair jump up from the flower bed and get at the platform that way, but only Furtle has seen both squirrels at the same time. When she watched them, the one was already eating when the second jumped on and dislodged it, so the second could stuff its face. The ejectee apparently tried returning the favour and jumped back, but missed entirely, splatting on the patio instead and then retiring to nurse its pride. I should have liked to have seen that.

I have a couple of photos of one of the miscreants sitting in the bired feeder and once I can locate the leads, I shall copy them over to the PC from the camera and drop a picky on LJ.

In the evening we watched a bit of telly and played a bit of Warcrack and then suddenly it was today. Boo hiss and indeed, Chiz.