Smart

The holiday is almost upon us. I worry that I ought to be doing something about it, such as packing, or ironing, or at least thinking constructively about ironing, rather than trying to deny it exists.

The recent downturn in the weather hasn't helped to focus me: lightweight summery outfits or waterproofs and winter woolies? This is not as big a decision as it sounds, as I tend to wear pretty much the same things regardless of the season.

I bought a smartphone today, mainly in case my laptop expires its last while on holiday, which seems a possibility. It is the first smartphone I have owned, which only goes to show how behind the times I am, but given the problems I had getting to grips with my previous definitely unsmart phone, it is understandable that I should have developed a deep-seated fear of modern technology. It seems to do a lot more than I would have expected a phone would want to do, but that is probably why it's called smart.

Thinking about it, smart also has a derogatory sense, as in too clever for ones own good. A warning, perhaps.

Wiped

– There you go – didn't I tell you?
– Tell me what?
– That it would be a simple matter to fix your laptop and stop it crashing continually.
– Not sure I remember much about what you suggested. In the end I just wiped everything and reinstalled Windows.
– Exactly.
– Which I'm not entirely sure was one of your recommendations. However, I do remember your comment about flinging it into the dustbin and buying a new one. And I think before the flinging into the dustbin there was something about the hearty application of a large hammer, along the lines of demonstrating to the laptop that humans were intrisically superior to machines and would no longer tolerate being made fools of in our own living-rooms.
– That was perhaps more to vent your frustration and give your self-confidence a bit of a boost, underlining that you were in control of the situation, and that sort of thing. Clearly, the laptop isn't capable of understanding what's going on.
– I think that was apparent after you had shouted at it for a good half hour.
– I wasn't sure if you had any speech recognition set up.
– No. For the laptop's sake, I'm glad I hadn't.

Fratres

Despite the many benefits of having a deep-seated interest in classical music, there are a few notable disadvantages, such as being ridiculed by friends and colleagues when you admit to having no idea of who's in the Top Forty, or even that you're not sure whether the Top Forty still exists, or why they ever thought forty was a particularly auspicious number for the top of anything. Another disadvantage is that many of your heroes – for instance, the great composers – all walked the earth many centuries ago, and your only opportunity to pay homage is to visit their birthplace in Vienna (it's usually Vienna) or admire a hand-written manuscript in some dusty museum (probably also in Vienna).

But last weekend I had the rare opportunity to see one of the great composers of the present day, when Arvo Pärt appeared on stage at the end of the concert devoted to his music at the Manchester International Festival. I was lucky to be in the audience, seeing that the concert had sold out when I first looked online, but then noticed a handful of extra seats appear a few weeks later. It was the first time I've seen the audience give a standing ovation at the Bridgewater; perhaps again a disadvantage of going to only a certain type of concert, not typically featuring anyone anywhere near the Top Forty.

Lake

I managed to get home early for once, helped by a lack of anything particularly urgent to do at work (or at least if there was anything urgent, nobody told me about it, or at least not often enough for it to register) and by avoiding stopping off at the shops on the way (which I seem to have done every evening this week, partly because I have needed to buy birthday presents, which takes ages at my usual rate of buying one small item per shopping trip, if at all, as well as having got into the habit of purchasing only the minimum quantity of food I require at each visit to the supermarket, rather than stocking up for six months in advance, which would be much more useful in case of unexpected hurricanes or alien invasion).

And having got home early, and eaten my dinner promptly (a salad, for which fortunately I had enough ingredients hanging about in the fridge, left over from when I last ate salad, which luckily wasn't that long ago, seeing that these things tend to wilt rapidly), I managed to summon up enough enthusiasm for going out for a drive into darkest Staffordshire, and then, at the end of the drive, a gentle walk by the side of a lake.

It is a pleasant way to spend a warm summer evening, watching the boats bobbing placidly on waters, a few birds swooping here and there, a few insects trying to get out of their way. There were not many people about: some salty old sea-dogs securing their craft for the night, and couples wandering hand-in-hand or pushing pushchairs or walking dogs. I had my camera with me and, despite the rapidly fading light, took some pictures of boats.

Mind

– I've been thinking about thinking.
– You mean, in terms of finally doing something about it? As in, you'd like to start thinking sometime soon?
– No – that would make no sense at all. I mean I've been thinking about the process of thinking: how the brain works, that sort of thing.
– And do you know how the brain works?
– Well, no, not exactly, but that's beside the point. I find it helps to forget that the brain is some sort of mysterious, omnipotent being, encapsulating your very essence, the temple of all your innermost thoughts, and so on, but rather that's it just – say – a man-made mechanical object, one which does some things amazingly well, but is a bit useless at other things, and tends to get distracted and tired and run out of ideas now and again.
– I'm not sure man-made mechanical objects ever get distracted or tired or whatever.
– Perhaps the analogy is a little weak at that point. Maybe not a mechanical object, then, but something else... Like a muscle: the same way the muscles in your arm or leg need progressive training to build up their capability, but can get tired through overuse.
– But muscles don't ever run out of ideas. Or get distracted.
– Again, the analogy is not perfect. Think of – of – the cat.
– Why the cat?
– It's a simple example of something with a certain degree of intelligence, quite obviously, but is also, to be honest, a bit dim. For instance, every time you open the fridge, it expects to be fed. It's a simple Pavlovian response. Whereas higher species –
– To tell the truth, every time I open the fridge, I also expect to be fed.
– ... I rest my case.

Storm

It's been very hot recently. It is July, after all, so perhaps it should not be a surprise, other than the weather having been generally unexceptional so far this summer. So the sudden arrival of a sweltering heatwave has caught us all unawares. We began by welcoming the blistering sunshine, only to discover that sitting all day in the office was not much fun, and trying to get to sleep at night was even less. But then yesterday the rains burst upon us, and everyone complained that summer was over already. And then today it started getting warm again. Looking ahead, Sunday – that is, half of the long-awaited weekend – is predicted to be beset by numerous thunderstorms and fearsome lightning strikes.

This was not intended to be a detailed weather forecast, which, in a blog post, is of limited utility, given that in a day or so the forecast will no longer be a forecast but history, and probably wildly inaccurate history at that. But it highlights the importance we attach to the vagaries of our weather, particularly when the rest of our lives are remarkably dull and uneventful in comparison.