D’oh. I went hunting for my camera this morning, because what could be better to accompany this post than a photo of the gorgeous Reuben?
My phone (camera) is attached to its charger, all set for its day’s work, but alas, the subject has left the building! So, you’ll have to make do with a stock photo and your imagination! Imagine this big, black ball of fluff. He’s not particularly long-haired, but when he curls up, he just melds into this blob.
I have been experimenting, and poor old Reuben has been the subject. He likes to be active when it gets dark, but at some point in the night, he’ll come onto my bed and settle down. He’s there, snuggled next to me, as I wake up.
I posted about my experiments with home technology a few months ago. I have a Google Home Hub, one of these devices I can talk to – they sound incredibly decadent, but they are actually quite useful. Seriously. If somebody is disabled, being able to control things with their voice can make the difference between helpful or not. When I wake up, it is usually dark – early morning. “Hey, Google, what time is it?” The device responds, but not the cat. The device even lights up. But Reuben lies motionless. He’ll purr when I touch him but otherwise is happy to stay hunkered.
“Hey Google, turn the kettle on.”, for man (this man, at least) cannot function without tea. Even that voice command – no reaction from Reuben. He jumps up in an instant, though, even before I have flinched, as soon as he hears the kettle itself starting to boil. In fact, as I’m struggling to put my dressing gown on, he has sprinted to the kitchen and is reliably waiting by his bowl for his breakfast.
The other cat, by the way, is just daft. She doesn’t like eating with the boy, so although she is hungry she will hang back, allowing him to scoff not only his breakfast, but her’s too! But at least she hangs around for a fuss once feeding time is over!
I must admit, I scratched my head initially on this one, but soon found some inspiration as I looked through my album collection. Then I ended up scratching my head again, because I can’t decide between two excellent choices. So I shall bend Jim’s rules again and publish them both.
I was quite an awkward teenager. Some of you might say I’m quite an awkward adult! In the middle of the 1980s, while the rest of the world wore shoulder pads, danced very dirtily, was generally pretty Bad, drove DeLoreans and travelled Back to the Future, I was listening to lots of Sixties music, in particular, to Simon and Garfunkel. With hindsight, I can rationalise it, because it is just wonderful music, it has no “when” aspect to it, but at the time… If any of you wonder why I appreciate your Simon and Garfunkel choices every week, it is because I know them all. Off by heart.
My first candidate was written by Paul Simon himself, and released as part of their Sounds of Silence album, here is my choice to go along with the “loner” theme:
He was a most peculiar man. That’s what Mrs. Riordan said, and she should know; She lived upstairs from him She said he was a most peculiar man.
He was a most peculiar man. He lived all alone within a house, Within a room, within himself, A most peculiar man.
He had no friends, he seldom spoke And no one in turn ever spoke to him, ‘Cause he wasn’t friendly and he didn’t care And he wasn’t like them. Oh no, he was a most peculiar man.
He died last Saturday. He turned on the gas and he went to sleep With the windows closed so he’d never wake up To his silent world and his tiny room; And Mrs. Riordan says he has a brother somewhere Who should be notified soon.
And all the people said, “What a shame that he’s dead, But wasn’t he a most peculiar man?”
A Most Peculiar Man, Paul Simon
Beautiful song. I couldn’t choose between this song and my next, a song from 1967 which was written and produced by Mark Wirtz and performed by Keith West. This song reached No. 1 in the UK and did well in Europe, though I’m not sure how well it crossed the Atlantic, but nevertheless worth a listen. Poor old Jack again fits into our “loner” category.
Count the days into years Yes, eighty-two brings many fears Yesterday’s laughter turns to tears
His arms and legs don’t feel so strong His heart is weak, there’s something wrong Opens windows in despair Tries to breathe in some fresh air His conscience cries, “Get on your feet Without you, Jack, the town can’t eat”.
Grocer Jack, Grocer Jack, get off your back, go into town, don’t let them down, oh no, no.Grocer Jack, Grocer Jack, get off your back, go into town, don’t let them down, oh no, no.
The people that live in the town, don’t understand – he’s never been known to miss his round. It’s ten o’clock, the housewives yell “When Jack turns up, we’ll give him hell”. Husbands moan at breakfast tables, no milk, no eggs, no marmalade labels. Mothers send their children out, to Jack’s house to scream and shout.
Grocer Jack, Grocer Jack, get off your back, go into town, don’t let them down, oh no, no.Grocer Jack, Grocer Jack, get off your back, go into town, don’t let them down
It’s Sunday morning, bright and clear, lovely flowers decorate a marble square. People cry and mourn away, think about the fateful day, Now they wish they’d given Jack more affection and respect, The little children, dressed in black, don’t know what’s happened to old Jack.
Grocer Jack, Grocer Jack, get off your back, go into town, don’t let them down, oh no, no.Grocer Jack, Grocer Jack, get off your back, go into town, don’t let them down,
Grocer Jack, Grocer Jack, is it true what Mummy said, you won’t come back. oh no, no.