Oddness

Oct. 10th, 2010 01:42 pm
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Firstly I've unlocked this entry for any on my f-list to see.

johnny9fingers.livejournal.com/206502.html

Secondly....

And in my dream my ancestors came to me and said that the child would be a daughter and I should name it for Parvati or one of her avatars.

Lalita.

So, if it's a girl child we will call it Lalita.

If it is a boy child Henry has the diminutive Harry and Hal, Ronald for my father and great-grandfather. Havelock is also a familial forename, but HRH may be pushing it a bit. Henry Ronald Gregson Barnes: four (or is it five?) generations from the House of Lords. Gregson comes from SWMBO's side.

All in all I'm beginning to hope it will be a girl child.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
This evening I went to SWMBO offices where there was a talk on Faberge by Geoffrey Munn. Various nobs and important folk were there, and Mr Munn himself was pretty illuminating on the subjects of lapidary stuff and the languages of stones and flowers. We spoke for a bit and I found out that he had known of one of my godfathers, who by chance had also known the Queen Mum (RIP). Nice chap, as it happens, though I hadn't known of him from his appearances on the Antiques Roadshow. I mingled with the various lords and ladies and the odd oligarch or twain, before the wife and I took a cab back to the depths of East Dulwich. Apparently I'm a 'social asset', being rather well connected and prepared to talk to anyone.

And still I'm too damn commie for all of this. Even Mr Munn opined that the massive inequalities of the late Victorian and Edwardian period were the basis of Faberge and Cartier's ability to produce such high-value objects of craft and art, and was content that such times had passed. These days Imperial Faberge Eggs are valued at some £20M and rising: which is some Easter gift. Though I might just covet a Faberge cigarette case to put my spliffs in, I doubt whether either I or Madame could afford such a luxury: and even if I could, I doubt that I'd ever spend quite so much on an item quite so trivial, especially when there are starving children, if not on my doorstep, then not more than a couple of thousand miles away.

Luxuria was originally one of the seven deadly sins. What happened to change this?
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Still house hunting.

Last weekend I 'de-cluttered' my study so those without imagination could see that it makes a small bedroom, suitable for either a young child, or maybe a housemaid. Someone made a desultory offer on the house. In the politest possible way we told them it was insufficient.

We saw a few houses yesterday, and have a few more to see during the week.

Apropos of nothing, I wonder how Auberon Waugh would have viewed our present coalition government? Or for that matter Peregrine Worsthorne? Francis Wheen might have an idea.

Madame has been glued to the rain-washed-out golf. I, on the other hand, have never been a fan of the Scottish Game. The Kid Bro' plays a bit, it must be said: but my idea of games always leant towards the indoor variety. In fact I used to have commendations for my skills at indoor games: oh to be young again.

Before golden October declines to sombre November we have to either sell, or decide to stay put. Never mind, these soft October nights will offer some small chance of viewing: and there is always the weekend.
johnny9fingers: (Default)

Tuesday evening I rehearsed with the function band prior to our gig on Friday night. This had been rescheduled from Sunday evening. It was irritating because I'd been offered a freebie to go and see Spurs play Arsenal in the Carling Cup, but I hadn't picked up a guitar in three weeks so....
Anyway the boss had booked us in at a place called Arch Studios.

www.archstudios.co.uk/Location.html

I got there early ('cause I'm like that) only to find the Rehearsal Studio was full of those plug-in perfume dispensers that cause my asthma to start. It was so pervasive and strong I ran out of the door and coughed my lungs up and almost had to go home. Eventually they found one room without the aforementioned lung destroyers which I think must be much worse for people than tobacco smoke, but alas against which there is no legislation. I am reminded of Pubs that have replaced tobacco smoke with candle fumes: candle smoke, to my mind is at least as bad on the lungs, if not worse than tobacco smoke: but that could just be the nature of my particular allergies. I have no problems with tobacco whatsoever.

Yesterday we saw nine houses, one of which is a good possible. More research needed.

Also yesterday our Estate Agents showed a prospective buyer around our house.

The prospective buyer left muddy footprints on our upstairs carpet and left a greasy residue on the dining room dresser. Oh joy. Madame was just this side of furious. Then to cap it all, we found out that our house had been put up on the Estate Agent's website at what the Agent had called the pre-marketing price: which was not according to the agreement SWMBO had signed.

Madame's joy knew no bounds, as you can imagine. Oh well, such things are sent to try us.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
I'll unlock this post when Madame says so and not before.

SWMBO is pregnant. Very early, it must be said: about two weeks gone, according to the home test.

Talk about a chap shitting bricks....I fret about the health of any possible child of mine after my weird-and-wonderful life: I have no diseases that I know of and have been tested for everything recently, but I do wonder about any genetic damage I may have done over my multi-drug abusing past. I don't mind shouldering the burden of my own sins, but I'd hate for them to be visited upon any offspring.

We can but hope that any progeny of mine is free from the taint of my past.

There's a damn good chance the pregnancy won't 'stick' as the phrase is. I mean look at poor little Willie Hague and Ffion. I'm going to be close to sixty by the time I have to teach the little blighter to play with a straight bat, and if the poor thing is a boy then on top of it he'll have all that testosterone influenced stupidity to deal with....and I'll be too ancient and boring to rein him in when he needs it. I'll be seventy odd when he or she goes to university (if the little blighter's smart enough to get into one that is).

And it all starts off with a good couple of years as a house-husband, changing nappies and what not. I doubt we can stretch to the expense of a nanny.

In some ways my cup runneth over. In others I just shudder to think, my dears.

Hmm.

Aug. 31st, 2010 06:52 pm
johnny9fingers: (Default)
These last few weeks I've been a chauffeur.

Barring yesterday I've been driving a friend to hospital every morning for her radiotherapy.

On Friday I went to my hairdresser to get a haircut. Whilst trimming the old Ninefingers' scalp the chap that does noticed that a lump on the back of my head occasioned by an old Rugby injury from my dim-and-distant schooldays some thirty+ years ago had somehow got bigger. He advised me to see a quack about it.

Appointment booked for Thursday afternoon. Hope it's nothing serious, or if it is it will be quick and to the point. Though I do good languishing I'm sure I'd make a poor patient.

So many sins, so little time....

Go well and do good things.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Today SWMBO and I cook for my godfathers at Geoffrey's place. We did the prep this morning and now she has gone off shopping with a chum. I shall pick her up from Wimbledon Station at 5.30 and then we'll drive up the hill to the other side and G's.

Geoffrey is increasingly weak and can talk in but a whisper. John is very deaf. Sometimes you have to become an interpreter in conversations. Uncle John is still the acute Wykehamist, just he misses the odd word in three if not enunciated properly. They'll both be 80 this year.

Sea bass, salsa verde, and mushroom potatoes a la Jamie Oliver. A brace of Chablis. Raspberries and vanilla ice cream with shaved chocolate and crushed coffee beans for pudding. A half-bottle of Sauternes. As an aside G has a tiny galley kitchen in his apartment, which is why we've done our prep beforehand. I know he could afford to move but he just doesn't want to. Since he sold his country pile he's just owned the Putney flat and used his money in other ways: good for him too.

Hope it suits their taste. We shall do them the honour of dressing, even if not in a Tux and LBD. Madame will wear a frock, and I'll be in white with pale shoes. Ergo: remember to pack the pinafores, else salsa verde splash may become an inadvertent look.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
Since my Ma's neighbour has started her radiotherapy I've been booked as her driver to get her to and from the hospital. Early mornings aren't really my thang, but needs must, as the saying is. This is the beauty of being a do-gooding layabout: my sore travails are as nothing compared to the stuff other people are going through. It takes me twenty minutes to drive to the mother's, and another half-an-hour from there to the Royal Marsden.

I note that the Marsden has changed for the better since I was there last with the old man some four years ago.

As a final note, through Mother's letterbox this morning came a tax refund from the IR. It was addressed to me as the executor of Dad's estate. The IR finally closed Dad's case only some four years after he died. I shall not dwell on the efficiency, or lack thereof, of the bureaucracy, but the timing was just one of those co-incidental things to unsettle a bod.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
My mother's neighbours are a female couple who have lived adjacent for some 23 years. They have been good chums to all of our family before Dad's illness, but subsequent to its onset were just stalwart. Now one of the lasses (who is my age) was diagnosed with a malignant tumour on her neck in April. She had the whatever-ectomy last week. I took her and her partner back from the hospital when she was discharged, and in ten minutes I have to leave to take her to get her staples (not stitches) removed.

Illness touches all of our lives peripherally until it's our turn.

Go well and do good things, and just perhaps someone might do good things back when you need it most. Probably not, of course, but one can hope.

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