Saturday, January 10, 2009
Franklin works harder
It remains very cold outside, with hoar frost up all the trees, even the big ones, and looking as if it will not lift all day. Still white all over and near noon. Franklin, liking the great outsides even less than usual, is working hard at getting in and then being very cute so that he gets to stay in. Today this takes the form of, having been told not to sit directly in front of the screen of the PC, taking a great interest in the workings of the printer. Tried to get his nose up the slot the paper was coming out of, accompanied by all sorts of interesting printer noises. Then gazed down the slot for a while and then, not making much sense of it, tried peering round the back, while sitting on the top. All too much for him so he returned, temporarily that is, to sitting in front of the screen.
I'm sorry to say that there has been some damage. The shed has been home for a couple of years or more to a clear glass jar, the sort one used to keep chemicals in. It has been mentioned here before. The duck weed on the top was still there, although showing signs of dying down for the winter. The various very small animals had vanished, hopefully into some dormant form for rebirth next year. But then the thing froze, freezing from the outside in, with the effect that the plug of ice at the top jammed in the narrow neck and the bottle shattered. (Milk bottles used to freeze, but it must be that with their not so narrow necks, the ice can force it's way up enough to accommodate the expansion). Glass now in dust bin, hollow ice plug still sitting on the patio table, more or less in the same state as I found it. Freezing is clearly a resonably complicated process because the sludge at the bottom of the jar has risen up and frozen into a ball. The base of the ice contains lots of tear shaped voids, point down and out , as if a bubble of air was trying to escape from rather viscous water. Have to scour the car boot sales for a replacement. Maybe get a bigger and better one this time, supporting a rather bigger range of animals and vegetables.
Having lost the jar, decided that I ought to do something about the outside tap (in the garage, that is). Having had a freeze one year, despite being sort of inside, I made an insulated wooden box to keep it warm in the winter; but then, having installed one of those nifty little shut offs in the kitchen, scrapped the box. But the nifty little shut off was behind the washing machine and so much too much of a pain to get at. So wrapped the tap in a blanket instead. Nervous that a nylon blanket would not really do the business, set to, moved the washing machine and turned the tap off. That was me done for the morning. Time for tea and a doze.
Some weeks ago was moved to moan about a review of a book in the TLS which was not a review at all. So I record today, that I came across a much better example of the genre in the edition of 12 December last, a review of a zoologist's (this word seems short of an 'o' - but looks very wrong with it) tale of the Congo, name of Kate Jackson. The reviewer was another zoologist and the review struck me as striking a good balance between introducing the subject in hand to a lay reader, grandstanding (is this word of abuse still current in the world of work? Latest thing when I left it) and reviewing the book in hand. But while I liked the review, not quite moved to buy the book. Partly because we are full up of books, too many unread, partly because of relatively impecunious retired state and partly because we have rediscovered the library and the fact that its stock goes well beyond Stephen King and Mills & Boon, all the way, usefully for us, to jigsaws which one is allowed to take out on indefinate informal loan.
I'm sorry to say that there has been some damage. The shed has been home for a couple of years or more to a clear glass jar, the sort one used to keep chemicals in. It has been mentioned here before. The duck weed on the top was still there, although showing signs of dying down for the winter. The various very small animals had vanished, hopefully into some dormant form for rebirth next year. But then the thing froze, freezing from the outside in, with the effect that the plug of ice at the top jammed in the narrow neck and the bottle shattered. (Milk bottles used to freeze, but it must be that with their not so narrow necks, the ice can force it's way up enough to accommodate the expansion). Glass now in dust bin, hollow ice plug still sitting on the patio table, more or less in the same state as I found it. Freezing is clearly a resonably complicated process because the sludge at the bottom of the jar has risen up and frozen into a ball. The base of the ice contains lots of tear shaped voids, point down and out , as if a bubble of air was trying to escape from rather viscous water. Have to scour the car boot sales for a replacement. Maybe get a bigger and better one this time, supporting a rather bigger range of animals and vegetables.
Having lost the jar, decided that I ought to do something about the outside tap (in the garage, that is). Having had a freeze one year, despite being sort of inside, I made an insulated wooden box to keep it warm in the winter; but then, having installed one of those nifty little shut offs in the kitchen, scrapped the box. But the nifty little shut off was behind the washing machine and so much too much of a pain to get at. So wrapped the tap in a blanket instead. Nervous that a nylon blanket would not really do the business, set to, moved the washing machine and turned the tap off. That was me done for the morning. Time for tea and a doze.
Some weeks ago was moved to moan about a review of a book in the TLS which was not a review at all. So I record today, that I came across a much better example of the genre in the edition of 12 December last, a review of a zoologist's (this word seems short of an 'o' - but looks very wrong with it) tale of the Congo, name of Kate Jackson. The reviewer was another zoologist and the review struck me as striking a good balance between introducing the subject in hand to a lay reader, grandstanding (is this word of abuse still current in the world of work? Latest thing when I left it) and reviewing the book in hand. But while I liked the review, not quite moved to buy the book. Partly because we are full up of books, too many unread, partly because of relatively impecunious retired state and partly because we have rediscovered the library and the fact that its stock goes well beyond Stephen King and Mills & Boon, all the way, usefully for us, to jigsaws which one is allowed to take out on indefinate informal loan.
# posted by Jim @ 3:45 AM 
