Nominal Aphasia

I read in the newspaper the other day that Neil Diamond revealed after all these years that it was President John Kennedy's daughter who had inspired him to write his song "Sweet Caroline". I heard it on the radio this morning and recalled the story. In my musings, I then found myself trying to recall the daughter's name - Mary?, Betty?.

I put it down to sleep deprivation - working late last night to prepare a teaching presentation -, overall stress [don't ask!], and possibly age.

Now, what do they call that condition where you can't find the name of something?

Pink Balls and the Price of Beer

My journeys to and from work are rarely dull with my car radio as a companion, especially now as the days grow shorter (can you grow shorter?). Today there was a spokesperson for the MCC (or similar - other cricketing authorities are available) commenting on proposals to introduce pink cricket balls (apparently it is easier to see them coming, so there's something to ponder). He said that he could not envisage them being used in normal test matches in "any way, shape or form". I imagine that at least shape-wise we would be sticking with tradition.

A worthy collection of professionals and academics, backed by findings from the World Health Organisation, have recommended that increasing the relative cost of alcohol is an effective measure in reducing consumption. This has been established for a while and I will not comment on the research at this stage, but it was interesting to hear a recovering alcoholic saying on radio that price would not have deterred him, almost as though this single testament undermines the whole premise. These are complex issues and I would guess there are important interactions between levels of alcohol dependence and willingness to pay higher prices, notwithstanding the multiple psychosocial factors that impinge on this issue.

Pink gin, anyone?

Autumn Orange

Through the mist, just above the treeline, it appeared - my breakfast orange.

I drink gratefully from these bountiful autumn skies.

What delights will my breakfast table hold for me tomorrow?

Autumn Toast

How lovely the colours smeared across the autumn morning sky,
like butter and marmalade on my breakfast toast.

I want a slice now.

Of sky? Of Toast?

I cannot say.

Choices sometimes paralyse me.

N.T.Y.S.T.W.D.

Justifiably, my colleagues asked why I had placed a bag containing an orbital sander on the desk in the main office. I explained that it was my understanding that it was "national bring your sander to work day". Maybe it was my understanding or my explanation, but I think I got away with it. At least I was compliant.

Coincidences

The other day I drove past "Butterfield Close" just as "Build me up Buttercup" was playing on my car radio - a song I have not heard for ages but one which I occasionally launch into a rendition of when alone.

Today - "Blinded by the Light" as the bright, cold autumn sun fought its way through clouds and beautifully lit the colourful leaves of the trees, as well as interfering slightly with my ability to see the road ahead (not caused solely by my admiring the leaves).

Adventures in DIY - 2

Never underestimate the importance of safety, even if you may be mocked by those close to you. I had a lovely afternoon wearing a "sanding" mask, despite being told that I looked like a woodpecker with pixie ears. Such was my attachment to this attachment that it may yet feature in adult games. Next week I will get a sander too.

Adventures in DIY - 1

It is important to maintain your ranking in the neighbourhood. A good way to do this is to take delivery of random amounts and sizes of timber. Attack with a range of power tools and hammers, if possible leaning them against a party wall so your neighbours will be in no doubt about your earnestness when it somes to all things constructive.

New Windows

One of my work colleagues told me he had new windows fitted at home. He was very impressed by the workers who came to do it. He found out they were from Poland. They were in fact window Poles.

[Any complaints about this to my friend Peter Pun, please].

In Transit

It was with some trepidation that I passed through the departure lounges at Vienna International Airport (affectionately abbreviated to VIA on buses and other corporate paraphenalia) on my way to Varna in the summer. I was in two minds about executing a Viennese Whirl as I waltzed past all the stores, and was perhaps held back by the thought that it could end up in a Freudian slip.

I was most disappointed not to have found any Freudian memorabilia at the airport. A pencil and eraser set would have been perfect for recording and correcting all sorts of mistakes. The place was dominated by Mozart and, playing second fiddle to him, Gustav Klimt - more renowned of course for his art work. Strangely, my manager has the same initials as Gustav - wonder how I can use this sudden insight?

It was good to be travelling to Varna via VIA.

I would like to thank my pal Alliterative Al for help with this post - he may appear again.