the corner office

It might rain 73 times in one day, 17 of those times before breakfast, but I am enjoying the weather at the moment. Mostly I like that it's still chilly. As spring progresses you get to that point where it's not warm enough not to wear a jacket but when you do you get to the train station or work all overheated and sweaty, or you end up walking half the way with your jacket over your shoulder. I like that it's cold enough to not have to worry about that, yet.

I also like the fact that all this rain makes it longer before we have to contend with brown, dead, Drought! Afflicted! grass come summer. Right now, the world is crisp, green, and glorious.

and asked me:

Scientists have begun a study to see if it is possible to influence what we dream about.

They have designed a smartphone app which plays sounds such as birds in woodland or waves lapping against the shore.

If that worked I'd be dreaming about snoring family members other than myself and dishwashers. Which I don't. Q.E.D.

Sweet freedom. The cast is off, and the pin/knitting needle is out, a souvenir I managed to save from the 'sharps' bin to scare the grandkids with one day. The hand is crusty, swollen, still bruised and misshapen, with a lovely scar and a nice big blood-stained dressing over the pinhole.

But I can type again with two hands (clumsily, and slightly painfully), and I can visit the mens' room and conduct my affairs using the hand Nature intended. Joy!

Money is just a medium of exchange, an improvement on barter as a way to buy and sell stuff. But apart from the government, who says that medium of exchange has to be the official currency? Why not bottles of say, detergent?

And if bottles of detergent became 'money,' what might you expect to happen?:

Theft of Tide detergent has become so rampant that authorities from New York to Oregon are keeping tabs on the soap spree, and some cities are setting up special task forces to stop it. And retailers like CVS are taking special security precautions to lock down the liquid.

(via)

P.S. Check out the bottom of the article for awesome mugshot of a TIDE FIEND.

P.P.S. Some say the story ain't true, the jury is still out.

Radio silence because html and left-handed typing do not go together well. Briefly:

• stitches came out of the face last week. The nurse who sewed me up did a great job, but I'm still going to look like something between a lop-sided Harry Potter and a cage fighter.

• I ended up having surgery on my hand, thank heavens for medical insurance. Stitches coming out tomorrow, before a new cast comes on I'll get another glimpse of the pin/staple thingy which is currently sticking out of the back of my hand and which has been the bane of my life the past 2 weeks.

• My right forearm muscles have atrophied and gone old-lady wobbly after just 3 weeks. I now understand why people have to go for physio.

Pigeon blog:

We chatted to the pigeon in residence, Max. He said it was a top spot for warmth providing you don’t mind the odd headache.

If you want people to offer you their seats on public transport, put a big plaster on your face and put your arm in a sling. Never fails.

(post inspired by a comment from Ronwen)

Today was the first bike ride of 2012. I didn't really want to, but I overcame laziness, the cold and the prospect of Bromley Hill on the return leg and bravely set forth.

In return for my trouble I ended up with 12 stitches above my eye, a head in bandages and one eye swollen almost completely shut, and a broken right hand for good measure. All thanks to a patch of oil on the road.

On the up side, I don't have to worry about getting tetanus for a few more years.

I got Simon Singh's The Big Bang for Christmas and like Singh's other books it's an excellent read. I'm halfway through and might crank out a few more book reviews at some point, but in the mean time I have to share another quote:

The second photograph shows a more mature Rutherford with his colleague John Ratcliffe at the Cavendish Laboratory. The TALK SOFTLY PLEASE sign above their heads was aimed at Rutherford, who had a predilection for singing 'Onward Christian Soldiers' at the top of his voice, disturbing the laboratory's sensitive equipment.

(That being Ernest Rutherford, the father of nuclear physics.)

I mentioned that by the end of the Christmas weekend I'd seen Cars 2 about 17 times already. A month and a half into the new year, and we're easily into triple digits - and this for a kid who isn't allowed to live in front of the TV (well, he has been off sick a lot...).

Anyway. Much in the same way that you'll find children who think their name is Jesus-Christ-will-you-stop-doing-that, so Leo now asks 'Daddy, please can I watch Cars-2-for-a-change?'