Yesterday, bound for a conference. Got the train okay.
About a third of the way into the journey, train stops.
Someone had collided with a train further up the line.
In due course we are informed that train will be terminating at a station not previously on the schedule, where we can change to a train going, presumably by some more circuitous route, to the next scheduled stop, but not, however, onwards to my destination.
When we arrive at designated point, it is chucking down rain. Fortunately the next train is in and we only need to cross the platform. It is, however, rather full, though I did manage to get a seat.
Another, local, and very crowded train at the next change.
My dearios may imagine that all this was by no means conducive to reading a serious academic study for review purposes.
Once at my destination, some 2 hours later than anticipated, there was supposed to be a taxi booked for me - I had been in touch with the conference admin person anent delays - what I had not been told was that it would be round the back rather than the main exit.
Not that it was there when I found the spot, and cameth not as I waited in an increasing state of fume - it would always have been tiresome but after the preceding misadventures this was particularly infuriating - and a chilly wind. Fortunately, what did turn up was the taxi for one of the other participants, so I went with her.
I do not mention the faff over my ticket - got details and booking ref latish previous afternoon.
Inadequate curtainage in hotel room meant undesirably early waking....
And now I have to present a paper, sigh.
he dreamed of her as a laugh echoing over canyons vast and empty, bouncing around his ears, and he felt her rather than saw her, but he forgot the question he suddenly remembered he'd forgotten, and her voice faded and she was gone.
she heard his call and she answered - it was like they'd forgotten each other and now they remembered, and she laughed for joy that she found him.
What I read
Down the JA Jance Ali Reynolds rabbit hole: Fatal Error (2011), Left for Dead (2012), Deadly Stakes (2013). I did start the novella A Last Goodbye, but am now holding off until I get to the right place in series internal chronology.
Alexis Hall, How to Bang a Billionaire (2017). This is a book that one would think had a lot of my NQOSD things all over it - at first glance it was the m/m version of 50 Shades, but I looked at the preview just to see, and okay, it still has a lot of things that are not my usual things, like it is All About The Relationship, at least so far there are no other stakes in place (but there is a sequel forthcoming), and the billionaire thing means a lot of plain practical difficulties do not operate. The title is a bit misleading, on account of the billionaire character is what in a woman would be considered pretty much stone butch - does but will not be touched or done to - it's more 'banged by the billionaire'. The narrator is a somewhat hapless and gauche, though at least not completely naive, gay guy just on the cusp of graduating from Oxford. The billionaire is pretty much on the Violet Winspear romantic hero template:
I get my heroes so that they're lean and hard muscled and mocking and sardonic and tough and tigerish and single, of course. Oh and they've got to be rich and then I make it that they're only cynical and smooth on the surface. But underneath they're well, you know, sort of lost and lonely. In need of love but, when roused, capable of breathtaking passion and potency. Most of my heroes, well all of them really, are like that. They frighten but fascinate.But, dr rdrz, I could hardly put it down.
On the go
The end is almost in view with the Inchbald biography!
I am on the edge of my seat in re The Course of Honour
Well, the thing for review I intend to read on the train.
And new Sara Paretsky VI Warshawski!!!
#mylivejournal #lj18 #happybirthday
Haven't yet actually deleted my lj - there are still - probably less than a handful? - people posting there whom I read who haven't made the switch to DW - though I rescinded auto-payments back when the server move happened.
What cheered me about this was when I tried whether it would work in DW and previewed the post the misspelling of 'received' that showed up at the LJ is 18 page had been corrected. I was going to say something about it, I R pedant, but it seems I don't need to.
It's been a long time and I've made many friends, I've done things I wouldn't have done if I hadn't been on LJ and made those friends, it's a pity it had to end like this, even if my life has been predominantly at Dreamwidth since 2009, which is, in fact, for somewhat longer.
Dept of Serendipity: discovered that I had already ironed in my last massive ironing session the two tops one or other of which I intend wearing for giving a paper later this week.
Also, in Dept of Things I Should Have Remembered: the existence of an article I did c. 20 years ago bits of which I can reasonably recycle for A Thing I have been asked to do in a couple of weeks. However, the other paper of a similar era that I am similarly cannibalising had, once upon a time, a very fine set of slides to go with it. Not all of those images are now readily available for insertion into my Powerpoint, maybe I should have done the 'convert my slides' thing when I had the relevant hard- and software.
Dept of, Still Got It: 'We have the reader’s reports back... and your essay was summed up as ‘an excellent contribution’'. Though it then occurs to me that the essay in question is but the latest iteration of a paper that goes back a fairly long way.
Dept of, Oddness of People: The former inhabitants of the lower flat moved quite some months ago (didn't leave us a forwarding address). We are still getting post addressed to them, though I think it must be just about within the period for which the Post Office would be undertaking routine redirection, if such had been requested. While a lot of it is junk mail and catalogues that people might not bother updating on new address, I have become a bit perturbed by, firstly, notifications from dentists and opticians concerning coming up of next appointment due dates, and secondly, even more so by a package that I took to be the next X months' supply of disposable contact lenses. WTF?
During the week, a loaf of Khorasan (kamut) flour.
Got in too late on Friday evening to make rolls for Saturday breakfast, so we had toast instead.
Today's lunch: fillets of lemon sole clear-simmered and served with a dipping sauce of soy sauce and ginger paste (these were a little bland and mushy. which may be because previously frozen, rather than fresh?); served with sticky rice with lime leaves, samphire steamed and tossed in butter, sugar snap peas roasted in pumpkin seed oil and splashed with bramble vinegar, and padron peppers (which Waitrose now stock, apparently).
Probably bread-baking during the week.
And pour water over the remains of the fire
The people yawn and stretch and go home, singers
Silenced by the space created after midnight
Small groups still huddle round drunkenly seeking truth
After the buzz of gossip has swollen and collapsed all told
There remains a darker note yet still untold
And stubborn women rekindling the dance
To reinterpret their version of the truth
Around the warmth of a dying fire
Beneath a sky cloaked with stars of midnight
And breath still held to guide the singers
The tune is darker now, listen as singers
Form a charge, here now they have told
The crimes heard clear at midnight
At the end of the dance
and before a newly born fire
they will hear the truth
The remaining party is jury for truth
An epic condensed; a hesitation of singers
Await the story of a man, before the fire
His crimes are first explained then told
Again, each branch of evidence performs a dance
And the people huddle around after midnight
The judgment is reached under the midnight
Moon - the accused reacts weakly his truth
And the crowd, weary of yet another dance
Remind his crimes, threaten the singers
To repeat again the already told
To taunt him with verdict by fire
So he stands alone before the fire
And it's long gone midnight
The words gone, with all told
And he's left with his own truth
And that of the singers
And that of the dance
And the real truth of the fire -
of the midnight singers remaining -
they told only the end of the dance
this world is going in some weird way
sometimes I just don't know what to do
when everything we thought was true
is some other version from yesterday
oh, it's all gone awry, foul and askew
sometimes I suspect deep down we all knew
nothing's perfect, and no one can always obey
sometimes I just don't know what to do
and it's easy to waste time on the past, to rue
and lament the unfairness of what they say
oh it's all gone awry, afoul and askew
our collective song of the blues
from the earth, the very clay
sometimes I just don't know what to do
ah fuck it, this bullshit, screw
this dirge, hope for the smallest of yay
oh it's all gone awry, afoul, and askew
sometimes I just don't know what to do
And I was already out of charity with charity shops after the preceding one I'd been in had completely run out of change and kept me hanging around while, I suspect, they nipped next door to see if anyone could change a tenner.
And then I went into another one and found two books I was prepared to take a punt on at that sort of price, and moseyed up to the cashdesk with the exact money in hand, and found myself stuck behind that situation which is someone who is apparently in the process of paying for something - i.e. there is a something on the counter and the volunteer behind it is looking noticeably patient, while the person whom we presume to be making the purchase is making a great production of finding their purse.
And when this is finally brought to light, they spot something else on a counter display that they think they might like -
And really, I would have fumed a whole lot more, had it not been that this extended delay in making my own purchase gave me ample opportunity to admire the elaborate and beautiful henna patterns on the volunteer's hands and forearms - quite spectacular.
To George Henry Lewes, born 18 April 1817.
Best known, I guess, for being a rare male instance of supportive helpmeet to a woman (to Mary Ann Evans, better known as George Eliot).
Even to the extent that it's possible that his own achievements get overlooked because of the shadow he was in. We also note that he pursued what has sometimes been a more feminine trajectory of doing a Lot of Different Things, from experiments in relationships to dramatic criticism to philosophy to biography to physiology, rather than pursuing a single course.
Tomorrow is the spacecraft’s final close flyby (T126) of Saturn’s moon Titan.
Just to put this into perspective for you, this may be the last time in decades that we get anywhere near Titan. There are no missions to Saturn or its most interesting* moons, Titan and Enceladus, currently funded or being built. That means there’s a minimum of ten years before a new mission could be launched. Given that the transit time to Saturn is, at a minimum, seven years and on average more like ten, that’s two decades until we can repeat Cassini’s observations.
Cassini’s impending demise makes me sad, of course, but what bothers me even more is the lack of continuity in our exploration of our solar system.
You can read the details of tomorrow’s Cassini’s observations on the NASA-JPL press release here. It includes an animation of the flyby over the surface, from the perspective of the spacecraft.
* “most interesting” being ever so slightly subjective, of course
Complete this sentence: Pimlico is the most useless London Underground station
on the Victoria Line.
in Zone 1.
on the entire Tube network.
If Pimlico is not the most useless London Underground station on the entire Tube network, what is?
( Context )
ETA at 10:19 AM: *KLAXON* MORNINGTON CRESCENT HAS BEEN MENTIONED ALREADY. That took even less time than I thought it would. *hands a banana to miss_s_b*