About To Step Into A Black Hole — Happy Christmas Anyway…

It’s early to be wishing people a Happy Christmas, but Winter is undoubtedly here. More to the point, I’m at the brink of a technical black hole, about to step in, and might not re-emerge before Spring. As an added complication, I am going as close as I can get to 100% ecard this year, so will be sending out ecards prior to the Big Turn Off of my current computers.

I’ve been through this sort of major technical upheaval before, both at home and at work. Although the promise that the systems might be down “briefly” is accurate more often than not these days, I’m not taking chances. Certainly, the big outfits — large well-staffed IT departments or huge tech companies — are pretty efficient at upgrades.

The thing is that I am neither a huge tech company nor a well-staffed IT department. I’m embarking on this upgrade (both hardware and software) on my own and might have to call on alternative definitions to achieve brevity. I’m hoping to be offline only “briefly”, and back online well before Spring, but after all, in the history of the planet where the gap between the last stegosaurus and the first tyrannosaurus is longer than the gap between the last tyrannosaurus and the first iPad, “before next Spring” is a very brief period, less than the blink of an eye.

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Imagine Waking To Find Yourself Teetering At The Edge Of A Cliff

A disorganised week began with an unexpected Christmassy touch. Look what appeared on the drive. It’s a robust holly bush that has been scratching parked cars and us for many years, but it hasn’t joined in the festivities before. I’m considering festooning it with some heavy-duty tinsel and maybe some lights.

It has been an unstructured week. Everyone is ok or on the road to recovery, but a combination of family, friends, illnesses, hospital visits, and generally disrupted plans, have made me think that the timely arrival of berries on the holly bushes might the only Christmas preparations that are complete in time for the 25th.

One of those weeks where trips to the beach have been oases in the chaos.

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And The Band Played On…

When the spouse invited the 4-year-old to “help make cheese scones” I vowed to keep out of the way. I don’t go looking for trouble and am careful to stipulate activities that don’t involve running water, flour, and hot stoves. Cheese scones are on my no-fly list. I scurried upstairs to my office.

A prolonged discordant crashing cacophony like the collapse of a bell tower had me flying back down, wondering how many emergency services I would need to call.

The scene was peaceful; the 4-year-old perched on a high stool, up to her elbows in scone dough, the spouse organising baking trays by the cooker, and all the saucepans arranged upside down on the floor.


“What happened?”

“We’re making scones.”

“What was that crash? Why are all the pans on the floor?”

“It’s the band. I’ll show you.”

With that, the 4-year-old leapt down in a spray of grated cheese, raising a flour cloud that fogged the kitchen. Grabbing a couple of wooden spoons she set about the upturned saucepans. The band more than compensated in volume for what it lacked in harmony, leaving me slightly stunned as though someone had hit me with a lead pipe.

Through the fog of flour, I saw the spouse pottering happily by the cooker as the final note from a jarringly pitched vegetable steamer died away.


“Why do you need a band?”

I got a look confirming my suspicion that I’d asked a silly question.


“We’re making cheese scones.”

Ok, fair enough. I concede defeat to 4-year-old logic and retreat to the office.

Sometimes the band just has to play on…

***

Originally published in The Haven.

A Battered Week In Flowers

Unplanned, it turned out to be a week in flowers, but if you’re a horticultural expert, be prepared for some facepalm moments. I’m no expert. I have named the ones I think I can identify but might have strayed from the path of accuracy. I shall be delighted to have more of these specimens identified or to have my guesses corrected.

There was a significant birthday in the family this week (not mine), and we went out to a pub for a meal. We found a shaded spot to enjoy the sun, close to where the purply-pink flowers below were thriving in a sheltered corner. A building storm had flattened any that put their heads out into the face of the wind.

Taking a different sort of battering, the birthday boy risked indigestion with a house speciality, a high-rise creation of many layers, held up by wooden stakes, and accompanied by giant slabs of deep-fried potato — a dish misleadingly named “Cheeseburger & chips”. Delicious but enough in one serving to feed all of us for a week.

Battering in another sense arrived later in the week...

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Winter Garden Solves Summer Mystery

Image: OpenClipart-Vectors, Pixabay

It’s worth visiting those desolate corners of the garden at this time of year. Winter will have left areas exposed that were impenetrable jungles in summer, and this holds an advantage.

Not only have we already unearthed some interesting artefacts, we have also solved the Ice Cream Mystery that caused strife and consternation amongst a visiting group of under-5s. Accusations were thrown, tears were shed, but the disappearance of the last Cornetto remained a mystery.

Until now!

No wilful larceny — it had just been lost in the long grass. We found it unexpectedly intact, but past its best. Unwilling to risk re-opening the feud, we kicked it back into the long grass — figuratively speaking — by binning it.

Case closed.

***

Originally published in The Daily Cuppa.

A Week Of Hot, Cold, Birds & Fungi

The week started with sudden torrential downpours. They would arrive out of nowhere, soak everything through, then vanish as quickly as they had arrived. This is not normal weather for us. Apparently, the jet stream is staying stubbornly further south than it should be at this time of year.

The sudden rain has had us all — animal and human — scurrying for cover. During one cloudburst, this little chap hurried into the side porch ahead of me and ducked under the plants. I followed warily, assuming he hadn’t seen me, and not wanting to frighten him into a panic (or into the house). He didn’t seem bothered when I went past. Expecting that he would have flown right off out again, I thought it was probably a waste of time to get my camera, but he was still there and sat unconcerned while I took this shot.

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Dealing With Old-Fashioned Harassment

It might feel like an old-fashioned form of harassment, but dodgy phone calls are horrible. I’ve been on the receiving end. At best, they’re unsettling; at worst sinister.

So I was concerned to learn that a friend had become a victim.

"I get this call every day. It’s awful…"

I fear the worst, but it’s not quite what I think.

"… I can’t make out what they’re saying. I’m not sure if I recognise the voice…"

She feels ill-mannered saying she can’t understand and asks them to email but thankfully doesn't give out the address.

At last, the call comes when her husband is in. He grabs the phone, verbal artillery primed.

It’s not needed.

Turns out it was the pharmacy doggedly trying to tell her that her new hearing aids are ready for collection.

***

Originally published in The Daily Cuppa.