Pushchairs In Our Time

A listen to the wireless this morning and a quick whizz round the internet gives off a tone of "sod 'em. Let's just get on with it." Diamond Geezer, as I'd have expected, comes into his own at this time.

Indeed. Let's just get on, shall we?

After eight weeks off line, connected only vicariously by dust-damaged floppies, my laptop is getting significant internet fixes. Windows XP sevice pack 2 still has that bug which prevents me connecting to the internet. Having installed it, I found yet another 'bug' (was it really there by mistake?) which prevented me from uninstalling the bastard. So I had to do a system restore. What a palaver. There's also something ghastly happened to WMP 10. Ha ha. So I'm using Musicmatch Jukebox. I thought I'd update the MP3 player last night and I've emptied it of all content. Hmm. Luckily it's all backed up on the laptop.

I notice that the BBC's MP3 download programme is cautiously expanding. I can't see why they can't put almost everything into downloadable form, though. Drama, for example. However, strolling down to the allotment with In Our Time is ok to be getting on with.

We bought a push chair yesterday. Well, I say pushchair, but it's more like those Transformer robot things you used to be able to get in the 80s (and still can I've just realised). It's a Jane Carrera, and is a pram, pushchair, carrycot, and carseat.

I rang my Mam this morning to catch up with her and arrange to visit over the next few days, and she exclaimed, as she so often does during our telephone conversations, "Are you bliddy smoking again?!" What? I stopped three years ago. I was merely breathing, Mother. And then, "Does this phone sound all right to you?" Yes, Mam, it's fine. Why? "Well, it's new and I can hear a noise like bacon frying." I'm frying bacon, Mam, for breakfast. As we're speaking. I managed to change the subject before we strayed onto the dangers of frying bacon whilst on the phone.

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