h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The backie fox was careening thru' the garden at the back of three haein' a wonderful time. It was that dull it felt like late evening and the rain was pliettering down. Is pliettering a real word? It is ver' descriptive. I often use it and am firmly of the opinion that it is part o' the Doric. The thought struck me that I should check the spelling - is it 'ie' or 'ei', so I googled on "pliettering" and I got a Google-bomb - one single hit, and it was to one of my journal entries from 2006 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/alabaster/F136150?thread=2281919 Well, I suppose - it proves I'm consistent. Pliettering means 'dingin doon', BTW. Susan had a walk in the dingin doon rain. She came back with bread and beer - sound instincts. Caili cheese for tea. Summer in Aiberdeen. Well, we get nice spells in the Spring and Autumn. The grass oot backie got cut yesterday, and Susan went ape with her strimmer. The mower is out of petrol, and we will have to fill the can at a garage. Somebody is playing Radio Scotland teuchter music somewhere out back. I cannae stand teuchter music. We watched a Timothy Hutton Ellery Queen last night. I remember them from the 70s. I really liked them - the challenge to the viewer, and the splendid 40s styling. I have read quite a few Ellery Queens and rather enjoy them but they are hard to get nowadays. What was the question supposedly asked of Lee and Dannay by Dashiell Hammett - "Mr Queen, will you be good enough to explain your famous character's sex life, if any?" His point, I suppose, was that there was a new wave coming in and the old-school cozy writers should get out of the way, but there isn't much between Ellery Queen and Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlow in the sexlessness stakes, and Hammett himself was only a different flavour of old school; and Lee and Dannay really could do creepy aberrant psychology; and what was Hammett setting himself up as, a cheerleader for Mickey Spillane, fersake... It's a strange sensation, reading one's old journal entries - they take me back to a time before I'd exhausted my stock in trade and wasn't repeating myself on a daily basis. In February 2006 I was 45, and still believed that I might have some sort of a future in the law. Pre-Miah days too. That Drugless is long since dead. As dead as our lond-dead cat o' the era - a friendly affectionate placid beastie I didn't appreciate enough 'til she was gone. Holly. Good thesis prigress today. 1000 words with no footnotes - i.e. I am summing up and pulling things together at the end of a protracted squawk, and am realising that I need to haul out the coloured pens to mindmap everything. Drugless

It's a Google-whack, NOT a Google-bomb. Now, having typed the B word twice, I suppose that I'll have the security services all over my journal. Demmy.

My cauli cheese was good, but Susan's was watery. But then again, I'm the one who plates up, so no surprise there.

Some fine ale lined up, and some kind of flick, but what?

Bolognese for tea tomorrow. Garlic-y.

Miah is out, and has been for a while.


Drugless