Hello, Saturday

The remaining blister is out on probation, with dressings ready if it misbehaves. I have cleaned the kitchen, which is something I don't do often enough, though the rumour that I only ever do it when we have company coming is a vile and treasonous calumny, honest guv.

I am sadder at the passing of Diana Wynne Jones than I am at that of Elizabeth Taylor, to be honest. The latter was a great lady and did a lot of good in the world, but the former was almost a friend as well as a favourite writer, and now there will be no more chances. But the sadness is selfish, because her life was dogged by pain, and now the pain is over and I dare to hope that she is enjoying its absence, because I'm irrational and deluded like that. (And the fact that she wouldn't be expecting to just makes it better.)

I now await either my bandmates, or apologetic emails concerning the sudden inheritance of castles in Florida or abduction by pirate ninjas from Dino Island.

(Incidentally, if you haven't heard filkertom's "The Last Hero On Earth" yet, go shell out some money at his site--if you have a spare nine dollars, of course, many people don't--and buy it. It's amazing, funny, moving, well-performed and -produced and he wrote the thing in twenty-four hours. I may as well resign myself to being permanently outclassed.)

An odd odette (not to be confused with Odd Odette who lives at number four)

I do not like thee, Firefox 4,
The reason why, I'm none too sure,
But this I know right to my core;
I do not like thee, Firefox 4.