Sunday, February 13, 2011

On traffic diversions and teenage back-seat drivers
Clyde Tunnel Roadworks


Traffic Scotland link

They started their repair-work on the Clyde Tunnel approaches yesterday, and by today we were in contraflow with cones all over the place. (See the STV news above.)


So there I am, driving along this morning behind a Council Works van. He went left; I was facing an arrow pointing left and another pointing right, and seemingly no indication that I could jink over to the "wrong" side of the road to proceed northwards on a contraflow.


"Go THAT way", proclaims the TBSD, flapping his hand aimlessly about. I remonstrated that drivers needed precise directions like "left", "right" or "straight on", since I was more concerned with driving than with watching his flapping hand. I turned right. "I told you", insisted the TBSD, "to go THAT way. It was perfectly clear. And now I'm going to miss my train."


It was a close shave by the time I'd gone round three sides of a square and driven right past the station. Which I had to do, since there were cars behind me in this blooming contraflow, and I couldn't just stop. 

But he did catch the train, so I am still alive.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Modern Librarianship?

Someone was trying to come up with an image to sum up modern librarianship.  Trickier than you'd think - electronic databases don't make good pictures!

I had a go at producing my own "still-life" image, and here it is:-

Sunday, February 06, 2011

You know, I can understand why we have world wars.  If even three brothers can't rub along peacefully of a morning, it's hardly surprising if whole nations turn either in on themselves or against each other.

However, all is peaceful after lunch.  My most successful maxim:-

If all else fails, feed them carbs!

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

Men!  What would we do without them?  Superspouse, thinking I could do with some flowers, brought home a beautiful bunch of roses.  Can't remember if they were prompted by a guilty conscience, but it doesn't actually matter, because they still look lovely three weeks later.  I wonder why?  (The first reusable peace offering?  I've put them away for the next time he needs them.  To be fair, they are so realistic that he didn't actually realise they weren't real...)


Meanwhile, Superwhizz Cello-Kid - not known for his tact - just casually pronounced at the dining-table,


"Of course, you're infertile now, aren't you, Mum?"


When I stopped spluttering - and Viola-Kid regained a straight face - I carefully explained that "infertile" generally meant, of childbearing age but unable to bear children. Whereas I had borne THREE of them, though my reproductive years were probably coming to an end. Thankfully!