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The weather certainly warrants lots of whining. More appropriate for February than the middle of March, it's been cold, wet and windy, with maximum temperatures around 6°. Did I mention wet? Brrrr.
So it was only fitting that my heating should be lacking water -- and where the hell did it all go??? I had it refilled at the beginning of February!! -- on Saturday morning, Goran the Lovely Landlord should be in Thessaloniki and unable to reach the plumber because he didn't have his number with him, and reliable Kosta should have forgotten his cell phone at work.
I wanted to do the refilling myself, but was thwarted by the simple but consequential fact that I was unable to connect the hose to the water supply, or rather, to disconnect the hose feeding the dishwasher, so as to screw on the other one. Then I did of course become a teensy bit insecure whether it was really *that* bit I was supposed to unscrew, and so I decided to leave it and heat the flat by means of air conditioning. I harbour an intense hate of air conditioning in general and heating by a/c in particular. Still, it was better than being cold all the time.
The critters didn't like it a lot, either, equal parts due to the noise and the dryness of the air. But we spent an exceedingly pleasant afternoon yesterday on the couch. It wasn't too comfortable -- for me, that is; for the critters it was fine -- because I had to squeeze myself into a vaguely S-shaped position, half-lying on my left side, with ze boyz nestled in the triangle calves-thighs-backrest and Lola snoozing in the space thighs-stomach-edge of couch. 'Twas wonderfully warm, though, and my back was none the worse for it, surprisingly.
I started reading "Eat, Pray, Love", which had been sitting on the To Be Read pile for quite some time. It's not bad, but I can't quite understand how it came to be a bestseller, let alone turned into a movie. It's well-written in a nonchalant, everday-speech kind of way, and I suppose it's also honest to a certain degree. It is also entertaining at times, and the descriptions of places and people are reasonably original and vivid, but the sometimes too-detached way in which the author deals with her personal tragedy makes for a lack of depth; her search or quest for a life that is truly hers somehow didn't resonate with me. I mean, I can't dig up too much sympathy or empathy with a person who's got enough money to spend a year travelling through Italy, India and Indonesia without working -- not that I begrudge her the experience in any way; it's just that I can't help thinking "First World problems, duh" almost every time I turn a page. Still, it's an entertaining, easy read that provokes the occasional smile, and there's certainly worse than that.
BTW, a week or so ago I watched what must be one of the worst movies of all times: Black Death. Well, maybe "worst" is too hard or inaccurate a judgement. It's just one of the most unnecessary films I've ever seen. It did have Sean Bean, but that's the only good thing I could possibly say about it, and it certainly didn't make the film any better. What a waste of time and money.
Good Christian knights, led by a semi-fallen monk, set out (enormous wagon with torture implements in tow) to find the mysterious miracle-worker who has been keeping a remote village plague-free, while everywhere around it people keep dying by the hundreds. Village is found, knights gain access by using transparent ruse, mysterious miracle worker turns out to be a woman (no!!! really???) who does her level best to get knights-cum-monk to abdicate their Christian faith and become followers of her own heathen cult. Oh, and she can bring people back from the dead. And then it turns out that she can't. Anyroad, all the knights but one die horribly, and Sean Bean, who's been carrying the plague all the time but told nobody, spills the virus all over everybody before he dies, and the witch-woman escapes, and the lonely survivor returns home with the heavily traumatized young monk and the village chief (the latter cosily ensconced in the wagon). Then comes the epilogue, unexpectedly and unnecessarily voiced-over be the one surviving knight, informing us that the young monk grew up to be a viciously witch-hunting knight, who mercilessly tortures and kills young women, who resemble (or not) the witch that escaped. End of story. Extremely underwhelming, stupid and of course misogynistic. Oh, and unnecessary, but I already said that.
So it was only fitting that my heating should be lacking water -- and where the hell did it all go??? I had it refilled at the beginning of February!! -- on Saturday morning, Goran the Lovely Landlord should be in Thessaloniki and unable to reach the plumber because he didn't have his number with him, and reliable Kosta should have forgotten his cell phone at work.
I wanted to do the refilling myself, but was thwarted by the simple but consequential fact that I was unable to connect the hose to the water supply, or rather, to disconnect the hose feeding the dishwasher, so as to screw on the other one. Then I did of course become a teensy bit insecure whether it was really *that* bit I was supposed to unscrew, and so I decided to leave it and heat the flat by means of air conditioning. I harbour an intense hate of air conditioning in general and heating by a/c in particular. Still, it was better than being cold all the time.
The critters didn't like it a lot, either, equal parts due to the noise and the dryness of the air. But we spent an exceedingly pleasant afternoon yesterday on the couch. It wasn't too comfortable -- for me, that is; for the critters it was fine -- because I had to squeeze myself into a vaguely S-shaped position, half-lying on my left side, with ze boyz nestled in the triangle calves-thighs-backrest and Lola snoozing in the space thighs-stomach-edge of couch. 'Twas wonderfully warm, though, and my back was none the worse for it, surprisingly.
I started reading "Eat, Pray, Love", which had been sitting on the To Be Read pile for quite some time. It's not bad, but I can't quite understand how it came to be a bestseller, let alone turned into a movie. It's well-written in a nonchalant, everday-speech kind of way, and I suppose it's also honest to a certain degree. It is also entertaining at times, and the descriptions of places and people are reasonably original and vivid, but the sometimes too-detached way in which the author deals with her personal tragedy makes for a lack of depth; her search or quest for a life that is truly hers somehow didn't resonate with me. I mean, I can't dig up too much sympathy or empathy with a person who's got enough money to spend a year travelling through Italy, India and Indonesia without working -- not that I begrudge her the experience in any way; it's just that I can't help thinking "First World problems, duh" almost every time I turn a page. Still, it's an entertaining, easy read that provokes the occasional smile, and there's certainly worse than that.
BTW, a week or so ago I watched what must be one of the worst movies of all times: Black Death. Well, maybe "worst" is too hard or inaccurate a judgement. It's just one of the most unnecessary films I've ever seen. It did have Sean Bean, but that's the only good thing I could possibly say about it, and it certainly didn't make the film any better. What a waste of time and money.
Good Christian knights, led by a semi-fallen monk, set out (enormous wagon with torture implements in tow) to find the mysterious miracle-worker who has been keeping a remote village plague-free, while everywhere around it people keep dying by the hundreds. Village is found, knights gain access by using transparent ruse, mysterious miracle worker turns out to be a woman (no!!! really???) who does her level best to get knights-cum-monk to abdicate their Christian faith and become followers of her own heathen cult. Oh, and she can bring people back from the dead. And then it turns out that she can't. Anyroad, all the knights but one die horribly, and Sean Bean, who's been carrying the plague all the time but told nobody, spills the virus all over everybody before he dies, and the witch-woman escapes, and the lonely survivor returns home with the heavily traumatized young monk and the village chief (the latter cosily ensconced in the wagon). Then comes the epilogue, unexpectedly and unnecessarily voiced-over be the one surviving knight, informing us that the young monk grew up to be a viciously witch-hunting knight, who mercilessly tortures and kills young women, who resemble (or not) the witch that escaped. End of story. Extremely underwhelming, stupid and of course misogynistic. Oh, and unnecessary, but I already said that.
