One night earlier this week we had two power cuts in quick succession. Watching TV on the computer (what does one call that, when the show wasn't actually on television in the first place?) continued as normal, thanks to the UPS bought after a more consequential outage a couple of years ago. Next mo...
Classic Wodehouse, full of period dialogue, impossible plot contrivances, two-dimensional characters and everything else one might love about old Plum, if one loves old Plum at all. Infectious, too. But here's the thing: all the while I was reading it, I couldn't shake one thought from my mind.
Stanley Featherstonehough Ukridge is without a doubt the original on which Boris Johnson modelled himself.
Quite apart from the fact that I have barely written a thing here for almost a month, I thought it would be worthwhile to pick a low-hanging fruit. So I followed the very simple instructions at Automate your outgoing webmentions and now my hope is that I have removed one more piece of grit from wh...
I dunno. I'm not generally the squeamish type, but "a doctor recommended nasal aspirator that removes mucus from your child's nose" is not something I've noticed a lack of in my life. Via.
And then there's this:
listening to certain people with strategic pretensions is like listening to so...
For about fifty years, I have been labouring under a personal grooming misunderstanding. It has always been my belief that one needs some sort of lubricant to get a decent shave; soap of some form, for the most part, although I did dabble with a shave oil for a month or two. A couple of days ago, for reasons,1 I decided to shave with just water.
Revelation.
