I didn’t get much sleep on Monday night.
In fact all I got was a series of half dozes, while the rest of the night was spent reading books, wandering the house and generally cursing. The problem was that I had a sort of stomach cramp that just wouldn’t go away and was very fucking uncomfortable.
At around seven I got pissed off and got up. I went to let the dog out, and while I was at the garden door I had an “incident” that caught me completely by surprise. I went into the bathroom as soon as I reckoned the “incident” had passed so I could clean myself up. While I was there I had a different “incident”, and it was extremely fortuitous that I happened to be where I was. At least the stomach cramps had disappeared.
Yesterday evening Daughter called around. She commented that I looked a bit peaky and asked what was wrong. I told her about my lack of sleep and the little incident outside the back door.
“Ah!” says she, “That explains the diced carrots on the lawn. Was it projectile?”
“Like a fucking firehose!” says I.
“No, that came after.”
I should explain that Daughter is a semi-trained paramedic or something so she has a morbid interest in all things to do with the body. I asked her why she was so alarmed at a drop of Norovirus and she explained that it is extremely contagious and very difficult to eradicate and that it would probably come back to bite me a week of so after I thought it was gone. Apparently I can infect myself or something. Leastwise she backed away from me hastily, grabbed her stuff and ran. Daughters can be so fickle?
So I hope all my readers have their anti-virus stuff up to date? If it’s that contagious it can probably travel over the Interweb. After all, second hand smoke can apparently travel through telephone wires?
You have been warned.
There is a poll in today’s Journal.
The first thing to strike me was that they are asking people if they did something illegal and actually expect an honest answer. Naturally, being an upright citizen with high moral standards I selected “No. never”.
The very word “illegal” [or its derivatives] naturally raises my hackles and I take it as an open invitation. Who is that law protecting? Me? Hardly. Big business? You betcha. Anyway by my understanding, it isn’t illegal to download films and the like from the Interweb, only to upload them. So they can fuck off.
The whole ethics of the downloading lark intrigues me.
When If I download a film I am not stealing it; I am making a copy. The original is still there in its virginal state. Having downloaded it, I watch my copy and then delete it. Who exactly has been harmed? No one could even be aware that a copy was made unless they happen to be monitoring my data stream.
The film industry is churning out utter crap these days. All I see are comic-book heroes, supernatural horrors or bilge about Merkan teenagers. Sky promise a “new premier every day” which is a right laugh. Some days they don’t bother at all [despite their claim] while others are foreign language, kids stuff or any of the garbage I just mentioned.
There are a few good films out there but they are very few and very far between. One I watched a couple of weeks ago was “Three Billboards” which is a rarity – funny in spots, absorbing and memorable. I would watch it again sometime in the future. Then there was “Lady Bird” which everyone was talking about here because of the Irish connection [I might add that “Billboards” has an Irish connection too!]. In my book, “Lady Bird” was exceptionally ordinary. Not one that I will remember.
One film I would recommend for anyone who has had dealings with bureaucracy is “I, Daniel Blake“. Brilliant, and I rarely say that about a film.
Now just suppose I did download any of those three, you could possibly argue that I am doing the local cinema out of business, but it’s decades since I have been to one of those places and most of them are out of business anyway. Maybe I should buy a DVD, but why buy something expensive that I am only going to use once? If I wait a year or two those same films will appear on normal channels anyway, and the distributors will get their cash from the television stations. So all I am doing is a bit of time shifting.
The one good thing about this injunction is that they give a few sites that I haven’t investigated before.
On second thoughts, they missed my list altogether.
Herself was complaining this morning.
There is nothing new there, and I would begin to worry if there were no complaints. It’s a hell of a long time since there were no complaints.
Anyhows, this morning she was complaining she was cold, which is normally at the top of the list anyway, so I didn’t pay much heed. I said I would fire up the central heating as the timer had switched the boiler off. I went out to the boiler and threw the override switch to bring the heating on again. I went back to my mug of tea and my pipe.
Ten minutes later Herself complained of the cold again. I assured her I had switched on the boiler, and to prove my point I felt the radiator – stone cold! Fuck!
I checked the boiler again, and sure enough it was making funny noises. Normally when I switch it on it starts with a whirring noise as if it’s building up pressure. It then explodes into a roar as the burners come to life. This time it was whirring away happily, but instead of exploding into a roar it just gave a quick fart and went back to whirring again. It just went into an endless cycle of whirr-fart-whirr-fart-whirr-fart. Shit! Fuck! Bugger!
I phoned the bloke who had installed it but naturally he was the other side of the county [just when I want him here]. He knows me though and knows my extremely high intelligence [eat your heart out Trump – I’m the real fucking genius around here!] so he told me I could fix the boiler.
I had never taken the thing apart before [which is very unusual for me] so he gave instructions over the phone as I removed various parts and dropped screws. It was like those films where a bloke is instructed how to land a plane by an air traffic controller? He would tell me to look out for a particular wire and which way to follow it and what bits to remove and even how to remove them. Eventually I found myself crouched in the gloom of the shed with a black cylinder in my hand. I felt like a bomb disposal bloke who had just removed the fuse from an old wartime bomb. “Is it black?” say he. “It is,” says I. “Is the end of it black?” says he. “It is,” says I. “Well it shouldn’t be. There should be a clean photocell there. Clean it!” says he. So I got a Q-tip and polished the black end and sure enough, there was a teenchy little photocell under the soot. I don’t think I have ever seen one so small.
I reassembled everything and managed to do it without leaving any spare screws, which is a fucking miracle. I switched on the override and it whirred and exploded into life. Success!!
So I can now add boiler repairs to my long and impressive CV.
Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?