A Question Of Packaging

Just ate an excellent salad, purchased in a plastic bowl. It was tasty and, I'm guessing, surpassingly healthy. So it's all good. Except for the bowl. It looks to me as if this is the only use that will ever be made of that piece of plastic, and I don't know where it will end up. I suspect it won't be somewhere that does the world any good.

It's strange to feel guilty, I suppose, especially after eating so well. But I do. Just wish I knew anything that could be done about this - the wasted plastic, that is, not the guilt.

A Crimson Moment - 1

Spent eleven minutes today in the company of the Crimson King, the seven-headed version of the beast. I saw one of the early manifestations of Crimso, the Islands-band, play 21st Century Schizoid Man at the Free Trade Hall Manchester on two occasions in the very early 70s and it fried my teenaged brain. The version to which I listened today is even more ferocious than the ones that I experienced live, but this is a contained, mature fury. More darkly deceptive and dangerous I think.

The Green Stuff

Was involved in some fruitful discussion regarding issues of land, property and inheritance early this evening. Fortunately the discussions took place among sensible like-minded people sharing the same objectives. I can see the possibility of what we were talking about doing some real good.

This got me thinking of what an incredibly powerful thing money is, and how easily that power turns out to be destructive. I like the stuff, and enjoy having it, but have the good luck never to have had quite as much of it as I want.

Daring To Believe

23.34

It's 2 - 0 against Sweden and I just want to get this over with so I can sing Football's Coming Home. The trouble is I just thought of Mexico 1970 and being 2 - 0 up against the then West Germany in the quarter final when Sir Alf took Bobby Charlton off, to rest him for the semi that never happened. That still hurts, by the way.

23.53

Yes! Yes! Oh, YES!!!

Humoresque

I keep getting all sorts of invitations to so-called 'training' seminars and the like through my work email. Today one arrived related to Humour at Work. It threatened to ignite my sense of passion and fun. I deleted it in double-quick time, as I do with all the invitations, but enjoyed reflecting for a minute or two on just how dreadfully funny the whole thing was likely to be. Unintentionally so, I'm afraid.

Actually I reckon I suffer from too much humour at work, now I come to think of it.

In Memory

My memory isn't what it used to be, I'm afraid. I've been trying to memorise some lines lately and the process has been super-slow, compared to what I was capable of years ago. Somehow I managed to memorise the Henry Higgins's role from My Fair Lady, songs and all, before we even started rehearsals back in the early 80s. Now I doubt if I could manage a single song with real confidence.

Having said that though, it's been interesting revisiting the process of committing chunks to memory. I'd forgotten just how immersive it all gets. Just now I was running lines whilst doing my stint in the gym and completely forgot to feel tired. In fact, I thought I had a further ten minutes to go at the point I'd actually finished my scheduled forty-five.

It's strangely pleasant to get so lost in someone else's words.

A Day And A Half

In Manchester and environs a day and a half doesn't mean 36 hours. It's a statement of a day being both packed and delightfully fulfilling.
 
I've just experienced one. It began, of course, with a certain victory in Russia 2018 that wasn't at all certain until the final kick, resulting in various moments of mindless celebration on my part in the course of the hours following. It then encompassed a great deal of idiot giggling in a rehearsal for the 2 Cheeky Chappies (of which I'm likely to have more to say as the next week and a half go by.) A meeting with old chum and comrade-in-arms Deepak, the first for over eleven years, made for a memorable afternoon of non-stop conversation in which we had so much to say we somehow astonishingly forgot to discuss Man U's fortunes over that period. And the day's to be rounded off by the return of the Missus, which means that Mak must be bearing up, at least for now.

It doesn't get much better. Though it might if England continue to make progress, eh?!

Silly Selfies

 

Feeling at a bit of a loss this evening without the Missus around, I took myself off to Holland Village just now, to stretch my legs, and do some thinking and drinking (about tonight's footy and of tea.)

On the way back I thought it might be a good wheeze to take the selfie above - the first of its kind to appear in this Far Place - as a way of recording my support for the nation I'm rooting for in tonight's big game. I'm still trying to decide, by the way, whether to stay up and watch the game (kick-off in the very early hours of the morning in these climes, despite what I said about tonight's game.)

It would crazy to stay up (or wake-up after three hours kip) but that's what I would have done in my mad youth. Now the thought of facing bitter disappointment in the early hours is a bit much (as reflected in the rather glum shot above.) But, who knows, some joy might just be on the way:

A Trying Time

Noi and I were making plans just before noon to head up to Holland Village in the late afternoon for a cup of tea and some aimless loitering - today being a most welcome break from work for Youth Day - when news came in of Mak's condition having deteriorated somewhat after being admitted to Alor Gajah hospital over the weekend. It seems she's developed an infection on her lung and is very weak. The prognosis doesn't look good and there have been suggestions for the children to gather. So Noi has driven up there, taking Rozita and Hakim with her.

We hope for the best, but fear the worst. Mind you, this time last year things looked very bad for Mak and she pulled through that.

The family might well have difficult decisions to make, and in a big family that isn't necessarily easy, even when everyone wants what's for the best. I'm praying for Mak and for all the family - that all will be for the best, for Mak and for everyone.

A Fine Time

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday we opened our doors to various guests, and I think it's safe to say a fine time was had by all - precipitated by the comestibles prepared by the Missus, of course. I was there to provide the quick wit and ready repartee, but I suspect this was not anything like as effective as the grub.

Oh, and then followed the deeply satisfactory elimination of Argentina from Russia 2018. How jolly!