||[Mar. 15th, 2017|09:17 pm]
It occurs to me that it has been quite some time since I have celebrated the appearance of (or lamented the absence of) British people murdering one another on television. I suppose the daily sight of the UK (and the United States) committing suicide has caused mere fictional offerings to pale by comparison, but tonight I would enjoy seeing one of those classic, homicidal entertainments. Alas, none are offered. I do still watch them when they are on, and a local PBS affiliate has been running some on Friday nights, but nothing new has appeared for quite a while. I'll be glad to see them return, for as long as Britain (and PBS) still exist. |
This evening, in lieu of murder, I was able to make do with an airing of the old movie version of Noel Coward's Blithe Spirit. Ghosts and mediums are almost as entertaining as murder victims and detectives, at least now and then. I doubt I'd enjoy a steady diet of them, though, even if they were all populated with people as amusing as Noel Coward's characters are.
Considerably less amusing than any Noel Coward play was my activity this afternoon. On finishing an overdue washing of last night's dishes, I remembered that I wanted to clean that screen that covers the fan vent above my range. Into the used dishwater it went, but it turned out to have accumulated so much grease since my last washing of it that the suds vanished far too soon. I then decided to soak it in hot water, white vinegar, and baking soda. This combination is one of the finest de-greasers known, and it did do its job fairly well despite the fact that I was rather short on the two active ingredients. I'll have to buy more of them, so I can give the device another, better cleaning soon.
The clouds returned today, keeping it pleasantly cool, but also encouraging neighbors to burn things in their fireplaces once again as soon as the even chillier evening came on. The fires will burn down once their builders have gone to sleep, and I'll be able to go out and listen to the frogs without inhaling dead tree carbon, though not without a bit of shivering.
In the meantime I intend to eat some microwaved Chinese food with a few fish sticks that I will douse with soy sauce and a bit of horseradish mustard, just to remind me (vaguely) of the fried shrimp we used to get at the China Doll, the Cantonese-American restaurant of my parents' choice during my childhood. I'm feeling unduly nostalgic tonight. Ah, the pale, incandescent street lamps of Valley Boulevard in the vanished past! Now there are ghosts I'd love to see.