Bitch Queen From Hell phoned me this morning. I was icily polite and brusque, and I used the Voice to its full advantage. I said
, then I said
What do you want?
, then I said
Right. Thank you
and hung up.
If she still doesn't get the message then I shall go off on a vitriolic diatribe next
time. This time it wasn't entirely appropriate to do so, because she was calling to tell me that my grandfather is dying.
We don't know how long he's got left
What the hell. I'm pissed off with him too.
Until he decided to take sides in the ongoing feud between me and my mother, my grandfather was a wonderful man. Grandpa is a war hero (they are all
heroes) and a terribly nice, generous chap with a host of interesting stories and a large stock of terrible, terrible jokes. But he holds some singular ideas about who I should choose to associate with and he lacks the capacity to appreciate my right to make my own decisions. I haven't spoken to him since early last December, and I haven't spoken to my grandmother since the end of February, for similar reasons. In neither case is it because I'm holding an aloof silence or deliberately cutting off contact, it's just so much easier for me not to have to deal with their shit.
I shall continue to get on with my own life, three hundred miles away. None of this is of any concern to me unless my bloody mother tries to call again.
I have been subjected to a sooper-sekrit sneak preview of an incomplete version of Bloodspell episode 13. cairmen
is desperate for critical feedback before release, for some reason that hasn't been explained. Some of the sound isn't ready yet and at one point there is a
placeholder card that simply reads,
The Master kicks the living crap out of everyone
I feel quite strongly that they should just leave the placeholder in there. And I sound awesome
Observe this fantastic image of Saturn eclipsing the Sun, as seen from Cassini
(larger version here
Earth is that little dot just inside the G ring at about 10 o'clock. Everything we've ever known is on that pale speck.
If it were up to me, we'd consume all of Earth's resources so that we could get out into space before I'm too old to appreciate it. Perhaps it's a good thing that it's not up to me. But pictures like this remind me that I can still hear the thin gnat-voices crying.
On which note:
I'm told it was Rupert Brooke—though I've never found the context
, said the Air Marshal in Wyndham's version of the far-future year 1998. A five-second google for
provides context in an instant.
Remember when we could go to space but we didn't have computers yet
? Whatever happened to the good old days?