09:00 This morning for the first time since I was a little kid, I forget that the clocks were going to go forward one hour last night. What's happened to me?
It's not so long since I used to even change them all over the house on Saturday night before getting into bed, even, about 10 clocks in all - what madness !!!! Oh dear - there are just too many things to be thinking about at the moment, with my hip operation coming up on Wednesday - that's my trouble, and it's making me absent-minded. What madness !!!!
[That's enough madness for today, Colin, or I'll have to up your medication again! - Ed]
It was my birthday this last week, but till this morning I haven't really "clocked" that I'm now 78, which sounds really really old compared to those lucky youngsters who can still say they're only 77. Oh dear, my so-called "youth" is definitely over now, that's for sure, and it's not going to come back!
flashback to earlier this week: I open my birthday presents,
including this shirt from our elder daughter Alison (48), who lives
in Headley, Hampshire with Ed and their 3 teenage children
Hale and Pace typified old age the best, didn't they, with their lyrics to "Let's Stonk", the song that became the anthem for that iconic 1990's dance craze, the Stonk: the Stonk, which was dubbed by the press "the sexiest dance since the lambada" - remember it now?
Hale and Pace with their "take" on old age, in the lyrics
to "The Stonk", glorifying the iconic 1990's dance craze, the Stonk.
And Lois learned this weekend that even her fellow-church-member Lucy, the one who looks as if she's fit enough to pull an "all-nighter" doing the Stonk with husband John, without batting an eyelid - yes even Lucy is "sporting" a shiny new hip, apparently, "rocking" it, even.
Oh yes, I forgot about the sleeping on my back, thanks for the reminder Lucy - oh dear!
Yes, yes, Lucy, it's very [important], I know. Yikes, I forgot about those dreaded post-op exercises. Damn !!!!! Oh dear!!!!
But there's a step forward, of sorts, for me today, when British Gas finally admits to me (on their website, not via their useless South-Africa-based helpdesk), that, while my electricity meter is "smart", my gas meter isn't. Why on earth would British Gas and/or Persimmon, the builders of this new-build housing estate that Lois and I moved into back in October 2022, install one smart meter (electricity) and one dumb one (gas), when the house was built? It defies logic.
It's scary, not so much for seeing old pictures of the "1990 killer hurricane" itself, but just because Lois and I realise at the start of the programme that we don't even remember it.
Poor Michael !!!! It's sure to go down as his only memorable "quote" in all the standard quotation reference books, which is a pity, and more than a little unfair, Lois and I feel.
flashback to December 2020: Lucy (ringed) "photobombs" a "selfie"
of Lois and me, when Lois' church held its Christmas lunch
in the iconic 15th century pub, the Gupshill Manor, at Tewkesbury
Never mind, I've still got a few days when I don't have to be on my back in bed, and I've got Lois' special Easter treat coming up for me this morning, which is a nice thought.
Lois's acclaimed "Simnel cake"
And our daughter Sarah and family, spending their first Easter in the UK after 7 years in Australia, are also celebrating today with chocolate Easter eggs galore: here's the picture Sarah sent me of husband Francis and the twins, showcasing their presents and cards, some of them from Lois and me.
Our son-in-law Francis, with our twin 10-year-old
granddaughters Lily (right) and Jessica
at their home in Alcester this morning
It may be Easter Sunday today, but there's no respite in my ongoing war with our energy suppliers, British Gas.
This week, Steve, our American brother-in-law, who's more on top of UK news "than what we are" [sic, my bad English, not Steve's !], sent me a timely warning by email.
Oh dear, but thanks for the reminder, Steve, and yes I've just got to face it today, and get down down down onto my poor 78-year-old knees this afternoon in the gravel outside our front door, to note down a meter reading - ouch, that gravel really hurts, too, and that's even before I have to somehow get to my feet again afterwards.
our British Gas gas meter, only about an inch above the gravel
of our front flower bed - highlighted here with a white circle
by my graphics team, i.e. me. [thinks: does British Gas
really expect me to "stoop this low" to give them a reading???]
It's really dark and uncomfortable trying to get a reading out of this gas meter box - ringed in the picture above - and its top-hinged lid keeps crashing down on my head, with a bang, as I try to peer into the box's dark interior. I can only get a reading by taking a picture with my phone and holding an electric torch between my teeth to supplement my phone's temperamental "flash", and then I have to "photoshop" the picture afterwards so that it's finally "just about" legible, although only "at a pinch".
my today's British Gas gas-meter reading
What a crazy world we live in !!!!!
21:00 At least there's a nice scary programme from last night that we can watch on TV now, for Lois and me to wind down in front of, before getting back into bed again.
Has dementia finally struck? Yikes !!!!!
Luckily, in the course of the programme, we realise that we're not alone in forgetting the 1990 storm, however, which is comforting. Like us, everybody seems to only remember the earlier 1987 storm, which was actually less severe in terms of wind speeds etc, and with far fewer casualties, than the 1990 one.
It seems that almost everybody remembers the 1987 storm, but in the case of most people, for one reason and one reason only. And it's all because of iconic BBC weather man Michael Fish's comments, the ones that the poor man is most remembered for, from his long career of forecasting for the Corporation:
Later on while viewing tonight's Channel 5 documentary, Lois and I realise how shallow we both are (and not for the first time!).
At last we suddenly have some vague flashes of memory of the 1990 storm, which was on January 25th and was later dubbed "The Burns Night Storm". And the memory-jogger for us personally tonight is the recollection that Gorden Kaye, star of the BBC's sitcom "'Allo 'Allo", had a plank from an advertising hoarding come crashing through his windscreen in west London during the storm, scarring his face and necessitating a long stay in hospital.
1990: actor Gorden Kaye (left) showcasing the scar on his forehead,
and (right) Kaye in happier times, as French café-owner René, seen here
canoodling with waitress Yvette (Vicki Michelle) in the 'Allo 'Allo sitcom
set in German-occupied France during World War II
Oh yes, we remember now! It was Gorden Kaye's storm!
What madness !!!!
And it's interesting to see how much the Met Office has "upped its game" since then. In those days the emphasis was on propagating "measurements" of wind power, speed etc, rather than on giving warnings; people weren't on the internet, and also computers weren't so good at forecasting more than a day or so ahead. And storms weren't given names like they are now, which meant the public didn't quite focus on them the way people do now.
Fascinating stuff, though, isn't it.
[Oh just go to bed! - Ed
22:00 We go to bed - zzzzzzzz!!!!
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