What Chaz Did in the Night-Time

What does a Chaz do, you ask, when he cannot sleep? For the second night in succession?

Well, obviously: he does what anyone would do. He listens to the radio for a couple of hours, then gives up. Gets out of bed. Makes himself a hot toddy, reads Georgette Heyer and re-seasons a wok.

What?

What's nice, once I'm up, is that the cats come to check up on me. They are creatures of habit, and they expect the same of me. If they find themselves in bed and me not, then obviously I need to be tracked down and examined. Miao'd at. Very possibly sat upon.

In other news: suppose you were sentenced to be broken on the wheel, and they fed you to the iron lady instead...?

I went to the physio this morning, and she sent me upstairs to be acupunctured as an alternative. Which I wouldn't mind, I quite like the process - but I don't come away from it feeling hammered and stretched, as if I'd got my money's worth. And I'm sitting here typing for the first time today and feeling the shoulder start to seize already. I am not, of course, naive, and I did not expect an immediate miracle cure - but, y'know. It would've been nice.

The counting of Rome is a difficult matter

A friend of mine is having a party to celebrate her 49.5ishness. Me being me, as I walked home tonight (from a concert performance of My Fair Lady, since you ask) I was pondering: and I realised in mid-ponder that I didn't know whether the true Roman form would be XLIX or the neater and therefore less likely IL. Which being true, if the Romans had invented the decimal point, would they have said XLIX.V, or would it have been .VL? Or perhaps (.V)L, to save confusion...?

In other news, there has to have been a source for the Nile. Somebody must have realised first that the internet was invented for talking about cats.