Saturday Morning Uh?

One victim of the recent gails was my TV aerial, which needed to be reoriented and likely replaced to receive Freeview but now points mostly at the roof and can only pick up BBC1 and C4, which would just about be fine were it not for Dexter. Having phoned one company and left two messages, I've gone with another and they've given me an 8.30-12.30 slot.

Get up at 8.30, they'll come at 12.29.
Lie in they'll come at 8.29.

I got up. Ninety minutes to go.

Edit: Arrived at 12.39. Settled for new aerial at old transmitter - no guarantee that the new aerial would pick up digital without booster stuff and standard signal will suffer. On other hand am now Digital Ready. Hope right decision made - have no time to watch additional channels any hows.

Just as well, although the alarm at 7am was derided and ignored and the 8.00 one had to insist. I was just popping to get a paper and retrieve the wheelie bin when parcel man arrived with all of Blake's Seven and I'd just made a coffee when there's a knock at the door and there's a second parcel, some work. Not yet 8.30.

Heard on local radio (an advert):

It'll make Easter look like Christmas


H'mmm.

Sopranos watched, some tidying up done, now to work through the pile of newspapers for the recyling.

When I am Old(er) I Shall Wear Purple

My living room is Ivar-coloured with (beech?) pale laminate floor and light blue (ice? crystal?) curtains. A throw of a checky darker blue brought some extra colour to the room, and thanks to the unexhaustable skills of lamentables I had some cushion covers from converted red, purple, brown and gold curtains.

Alas, these have not survived my weight and have split along the manufacturer's seams (the Lamentables ones being still firm). I've visited The Merchant Chandler for cushion covers of various shades of tastefulness, but a couple of weeks ago I spotted some purple cushions in a charity shop. These I bought, but they've taken a while to get home and be unpacked.

En route I raised a fear with one of my drinking companions that they were too purple.

Yes, she agreed, They are too purple. But in a good way.

I love my friends.

Reading XIV: Peter Robinson, Caedmon's Song

Reading XIV: Peter Robinson, Caedmon's Song (1990)

Kirsten has been assaulted and left for dead in a northern town, and when she awakes, she discovers that she is no longer able to have children, and probably can't have penetrative sex. With the aid of a psychotherapist, she remembers the painful trauma.

Martha is posing as a writer in Whitby, looking for someone, and when she finds him, she will kill him. If she finds the right person.

Well, it doesn't take a mastermind to guess that the two threads are connected, and it's pretty apparent early on what the connection is.

Robinson takes a break from the Banks novels - and proves he is no Patricia Highsmith. It needed to be tenser, sharper, darker. I'm not convinced he can write women. This version is a later edition, slightly tinkered with in about 2003. I don't see the point, myself. Let the original speak.

That's the boxset of Robinson finished; onto a Gregory Maguire.