– Do you realise this is for the first leap year since I started this blog?
– I guess they don't come round very often. Rather like Olympic Games or World Cups. Perhaps we should celebrate the extra day we've got? Do something special?
– I suppose it's not really an extra day as such. It's more just making up for the quarter day or so that goes missing every year, which is otherwise awkward to keep track of. So really you're losing a bit of time in most years, and then jumping head to catch up in a leap year.
– It all seems a bit ad hoc.
– And then there are leap seconds.
– I'm not sure I care so much about them. They sort of get lost in the general inaccuracy of my various watches and clocks. They tend to be out by a few minutes at the best of times, so a second here or there is not such a big deal. And you can't do much in an extra second, whereas a day every four years is quite significant. You can do a lot in a day, especially if you remember to get up early.
– By the way, did you get proposed to today?
– No. Should I have?
– I think it happens on leap days. Ladies propose to men, especially those who don't seem to be taking the hint the rest of the year.
– Well, I've managed to get through the day unscathed.
– There is still time.
– Not if I switch off my phone.
Monday, 29 February 2016
Sunday, 28 February 2016
Pitch
It has been a long time since I last went to a football match. It's one of the things I never get round to doing, not to mention the difficulty of getting a ticket at Premiership games, where you can't just turn up and expect to buy one on the day. But by an unexpected turn of events last Thursday evening, I found myself watching Manchester United host the mighty Danish team of Midtjylland at Old Trafford. For whatever reason, whether the Europa League is not all that popular, especially when the fans expect better things of United, and are feeling particularly frustrated by their current run of form, there were many empty seats, and my son and I did indeed manage to get in.
It was quite an experience, despite the bitter cold, and lack of food (only because I couldn't be bothered fighting through the crowds for the sake of a hot pie). The roar of the crowd, the excitement on the pitch, the goals thundering into the back of the net. The chips on the way home.
It was quite an experience, despite the bitter cold, and lack of food (only because I couldn't be bothered fighting through the crowds for the sake of a hot pie). The roar of the crowd, the excitement on the pitch, the goals thundering into the back of the net. The chips on the way home.
Sunday, 21 February 2016
Hoarse
I am still not convinced I am over my cold, the one that arrived a couple of weeks ago. The initial tsunami of symptoms came and went fairly promptly, but left me with lingering congestion and a feeble cough and a flaky voice. I am not looking for sympathy, knowing my readership well enough to realise how unlikely that they would shed a tear let alone invest in a bunch of flowers, but rather trying to explain why everything has been a little subdued these past few weeks.
The absence of a voice was a novel experience for me. Not that I do that much talking at the best of times, but it has its uses, particularly when asking for things in shops, or answering telephones. There is only so far you can go with mime, especially on the phone. The voice has made a slow recovery, these past two weeks. At the moment it seems mostly there apart from the high notes, the sort that don't come up in normal conversation but are pretty useful when singing Brahms's German Requiem, which the choir are rehearsing at the moment. To compensate, I have access to a couple of extra bass notes, which would be more useful if I could persuade the rest of the choir to transpose the piece down a few tones.
I have tried putting my head over a steaming bowl at times. It is soothing, in its own way, but I'm not convinced it has helped my cough or vocal cords, although possibly my complexion may have improved. You always need to look for silver linings.
The absence of a voice was a novel experience for me. Not that I do that much talking at the best of times, but it has its uses, particularly when asking for things in shops, or answering telephones. There is only so far you can go with mime, especially on the phone. The voice has made a slow recovery, these past two weeks. At the moment it seems mostly there apart from the high notes, the sort that don't come up in normal conversation but are pretty useful when singing Brahms's German Requiem, which the choir are rehearsing at the moment. To compensate, I have access to a couple of extra bass notes, which would be more useful if I could persuade the rest of the choir to transpose the piece down a few tones.
I have tried putting my head over a steaming bowl at times. It is soothing, in its own way, but I'm not convinced it has helped my cough or vocal cords, although possibly my complexion may have improved. You always need to look for silver linings.
Monday, 15 February 2016
Heart
– There don't seem to be many cards?
– No, none this time, I'm afraid.
– Well, I guess that's how things sometimes go. Nothing to worry about.
– No, of course not.
– I mean, it is a pretty meaningless sort of celebration, when you come to think about it. Never sure whether there is any historical basis to it at all, or whether it's really just an excuse for rampant commercialisation.
– Of course.
– You see shops stuffed full of flowers and chocolates, heart-shaped merchandise of every sort, all in ghastly glowing shades of red. You start to wonder whether, even if you were in a relationship, you would do your best to steer away from all this shallow, exploitative, marketing frenzy, and try and have a more sincere, more meaningful celebration instead.
– That would be nice...
– Because, if you think about it, the heart is hardly the seat of your emotions, anyway. Perhaps we should celebrate St Valentine's Day with images of – brains.
– Brains?
– As the actual source of all your emotions.
– Brains look a bit – icky.
– Well, I suppose hearts do too, in their natural state. Perhaps we need stylised images of brains, like we have for hearts.
– ... What would a stylised brain look like?
– I don't exactly know. A bit walnut-like, perhaps. And on the pink side.
– You wonder why it's never caught on.
– No, none this time, I'm afraid.
– Well, I guess that's how things sometimes go. Nothing to worry about.
– No, of course not.
– I mean, it is a pretty meaningless sort of celebration, when you come to think about it. Never sure whether there is any historical basis to it at all, or whether it's really just an excuse for rampant commercialisation.
– Of course.
– You see shops stuffed full of flowers and chocolates, heart-shaped merchandise of every sort, all in ghastly glowing shades of red. You start to wonder whether, even if you were in a relationship, you would do your best to steer away from all this shallow, exploitative, marketing frenzy, and try and have a more sincere, more meaningful celebration instead.
– That would be nice...
– Because, if you think about it, the heart is hardly the seat of your emotions, anyway. Perhaps we should celebrate St Valentine's Day with images of – brains.
– Brains?
– As the actual source of all your emotions.
– Brains look a bit – icky.
– Well, I suppose hearts do too, in their natural state. Perhaps we need stylised images of brains, like we have for hearts.
– ... What would a stylised brain look like?
– I don't exactly know. A bit walnut-like, perhaps. And on the pink side.
– You wonder why it's never caught on.
Tuesday, 9 February 2016
Lemon
– It's not really the same, is it?
– Sorry?
– Pancakes without lemon juice. It's not really the same.
– Well, these things happen. When one has been severely ill all week, and indeed still feeling far from being one hundred per cent, the shopping unfortunately gets a little fragmentary. On the plus side, there are plenty of eggs. But unfortunately no lemon juice.
– What happened to the yellow squeezy thing in the fridge?
– The one that had been there since last Shrove Tuesday? It walked out of its own accord and hurled itself into the bin, in a selfless act to spare us a bout of acute food poisoning. But there are plenty of other things in the cupboard you can have with pancakes. Jam, they say, works well.
– I don't know. Sometimes you just want lemon juice.
– There are some satsumas in the fruit bowl, as an alternative citrus.
– They are the wrong colour.
– I believe the classic Crêpe Suzette involves oranges. You could pretend that these humble British pancakes were actually stylish French crêpes. And we could empty a bottle of something inflammable over the top to flambé them.
– I suppose it would at least hide the fact that they are burnt to begin with.
– Sorry?
– Pancakes without lemon juice. It's not really the same.
– Well, these things happen. When one has been severely ill all week, and indeed still feeling far from being one hundred per cent, the shopping unfortunately gets a little fragmentary. On the plus side, there are plenty of eggs. But unfortunately no lemon juice.
– What happened to the yellow squeezy thing in the fridge?
– The one that had been there since last Shrove Tuesday? It walked out of its own accord and hurled itself into the bin, in a selfless act to spare us a bout of acute food poisoning. But there are plenty of other things in the cupboard you can have with pancakes. Jam, they say, works well.
– I don't know. Sometimes you just want lemon juice.
– There are some satsumas in the fruit bowl, as an alternative citrus.
– They are the wrong colour.
– I believe the classic Crêpe Suzette involves oranges. You could pretend that these humble British pancakes were actually stylish French crêpes. And we could empty a bottle of something inflammable over the top to flambé them.
– I suppose it would at least hide the fact that they are burnt to begin with.
Saturday, 6 February 2016
Sniffle
Apologies for lacking a bit more lustre than usual, but I am in the middle of a cold. The first this winter, so I shouldn't complain, although to tell the truth I have been sorely tempted to spend all day sunk in the deepest recesses of the sofa, moaning quietly to anyone who will listen, why me?
Luckily I am on my own, apart from the cat. I suppose ideally you would have a loving soul mate close to hand, compassionately mopping your brow whenever it looked particularly fevered, or making large quantities of chicken broth from scratch, rather than just popping something into the microwave. Being short of soul mates at the moment, any visitors would probably expect me to run around making chicken broth for them, and to do the washing up afterwards to boot, so in some ways it is a blessing to be an outcast from polite society. Added to which the cat has fortunately been sound asleep all afternoon, instead of insisting on being fed every five minutes or wanting to sit on top of me in such a way as to make it impossible to reach a handkerchief when the need is urgent, which is what usually happens when she's awake.
Without getting too primal, it is always surprising how your body manages to spend hour after hour, the whole day long, coughing and sneezing and spluttering and moaning why me? I mean, under normal circumstances, the odd sneeze or cough is plenty to get rid of what ever provocation your airways have encountered. But in a cold, it's as if literally gallons of fluid have appeared from nowhere, all wanting to do a hasty exit via your nose. I am sorely tempted to go and weigh myself in the bathroom to see whether I have managed to exceed this year's resolution to shed a few excess stone by means of a mere 24 hours of sneezing.
I've not been eating much today. Or at least not much sensible. I tend to veer towards lots of hot drinks, which is possibly where the excess fluid comes from, accompanied by lots of biscuits. I think the sugar is a vital ingredient to aid recovery. Possibly they contain a few vitamins too, though I am not so confident on this point. Perhaps I am thinking of something else. I did also try some port and stilton a little while ago, which seemed to help. I would recommend it over the chicken broth, at any rate.
Luckily I am on my own, apart from the cat. I suppose ideally you would have a loving soul mate close to hand, compassionately mopping your brow whenever it looked particularly fevered, or making large quantities of chicken broth from scratch, rather than just popping something into the microwave. Being short of soul mates at the moment, any visitors would probably expect me to run around making chicken broth for them, and to do the washing up afterwards to boot, so in some ways it is a blessing to be an outcast from polite society. Added to which the cat has fortunately been sound asleep all afternoon, instead of insisting on being fed every five minutes or wanting to sit on top of me in such a way as to make it impossible to reach a handkerchief when the need is urgent, which is what usually happens when she's awake.
Without getting too primal, it is always surprising how your body manages to spend hour after hour, the whole day long, coughing and sneezing and spluttering and moaning why me? I mean, under normal circumstances, the odd sneeze or cough is plenty to get rid of what ever provocation your airways have encountered. But in a cold, it's as if literally gallons of fluid have appeared from nowhere, all wanting to do a hasty exit via your nose. I am sorely tempted to go and weigh myself in the bathroom to see whether I have managed to exceed this year's resolution to shed a few excess stone by means of a mere 24 hours of sneezing.
I've not been eating much today. Or at least not much sensible. I tend to veer towards lots of hot drinks, which is possibly where the excess fluid comes from, accompanied by lots of biscuits. I think the sugar is a vital ingredient to aid recovery. Possibly they contain a few vitamins too, though I am not so confident on this point. Perhaps I am thinking of something else. I did also try some port and stilton a little while ago, which seemed to help. I would recommend it over the chicken broth, at any rate.
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