:: ms efficiency

In fits and starts, anyway. I made a strict list of phone numbers today and got through them all. Dental appointment: check. Optician appointment: check (bifocals this time ... I'm soooo old). Garage appointment: check. Vet appointment: check. Sister appointment: check. That last was to make sure Faye's coming round tomorrow to watch The Wedding Video -- Liz and Ken sent us a copy. Faye's going to sneak in early and take Bertie for a walk, then I'll whip up lunch once I get up and we'll sit down for a "Missing the Family" session.

I also phoned the car insurance people to check out Andrew's Cunning Plan for May, when I go to Greece. His idea is to come down the day before I leave, drive me to the airport, and then (eventually, once he's tired of the fleshpots of Auld Reekie) drive Bertie back to the farm. Then when I come back, I'll get the train or bus up there and drive Bertie home again. Cool plan, I like it. I haven't got a quote on the extra insurance, but it shouldn't be a huge amount.

Spring is blasting along at such a rate that I mowed the lawn today, the bit out the front. I haven't done the back yet -- it looks so awful I can't bear too. I should take a photo from the upstairs and put it here for you to see: it's a real dog-owner's lawn, a collection of bald patches interspersed with yellow patches. I read somewhere if you give the dog tomato juice to drink its pee doesn't yellow the grass and I tried it and it did seem to work, but unfortunately Bertie went right off tomato juice. I tried sprinkling it on his food and he went on hunger strike. Next thing to try is some weird chemical from the pet shop.

I'm still astounded by the war coverage: more "friendly fire" mayhem; still no sign of Weapons of Mass Destruction (although they did find thousands of boxes of white powder in a military complex; "initial tests indicate it is not a chemical weapon" -- soap powder then?); Saddam's ferocious elite Republican Guard turn out to be a bunch of cowardy custards; Saddam himself is nowhere to be seen.

My favourite story so far is the description of the paras entering Basra. Their commander got them all pumped up about the dangers of close urban combat: "You will need to use everything you learned in Northern Ireland and Pristina." They'd lost a couple of guys in a gunfight early in the day so were feeling scared anyway. Off they go, crouching and aiming their guns at anything suspicious. Next thing they're mobbed ... by kids! "Welcome, how are you?" And a lady going past in her car toots her horn and waves! No-one shoots at them at all. They go right into Saddam's palace and peer at his gold-plated loo-roll holder and marble shower. They find a huge warehouse stuffed full of machine guns and ammo and grenades. "This is more firepower than is held by a British batallion," said Major Duncan McSporran (no, I'm not making up his name). "It's sobering to think what a well-trained army with a bit of backbone could have done to us with all this." Oooooo! Duncan! That was mean!

I'm on late tonight, 3:30am finish. It was wildly busy earlier on, I didn't manage a break at all, but it should be reasonably quiet later.