Try as I might I cannot get past the hyperbole of this topic. "Forever and a day" might only be "one of those sayings" to most people, but to a dyed-in-the-wool pedant like me it's an irritating reminder of how meaning is lost through overuse, or how casually words are thrown around without, it seems, conscious thought.
Forever is, by definition, infinite. It means the same as eternity. The whole of time. And, as with all infinite numbers, adding one to them doesn't make any difference. Forever and a day is, literally, no longer than forever. So while the massed populace thinks they're expressing something that means they're going the extra mile, doing something more, making a special effort, actually all they're communicating is their paucity of imagination or understanding.
Here's another: 110%.
I gave it 110%. No you didn't. You can't. If you've somehow managed to do more than you did last time, all that means is you gave less than 100% last time. Or alternatively, that your capacity to give was smaller back then, and you gave 100% at that time, and THIS time you have an increased output and you're giving 100% of that. In the same way that eternity, or forever, means the whole of time, 100% means the sum total of whatever it is you're talking about.
Imagine eating 110% of a cake. It's impossible, right? Once you've eaten 100% of the cake there is no more cake. Unless you've hidden a second cake somewhere and you've stuffed 10% of that down your gullet as well. But that's a different cake. It's not an extra 10% of the first cake. That would be like having your cake and eating it too. Which if I was feeling like writing another diatribe on physics might lead me on to a debate about the impossibility of creating (or destroying) matter (or energy). But I won't stray down that path.
In fact since I've been sitting here staring at the screen for the last two minutes with not even an extra 1% of an idea of where to take this argument next, it appears I'm not going to be straying down any path. Even the one I thought I was on. Maybe I should just call it a day. Since I've been arguing against ever saying "forever and a day" we could agree that the "day" we're going to call it is the day we've just subtracted from "forever and a day."
Makes no difference to me. Or you for that matter. Because in the same way you can't add a day to forever, you can't take one away either. Infinite numbers, eh? I could write about them forever...
Showing posts with label waffle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label waffle. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
100TWC - Day 18: Love
wow love i mean such an overused word i love you like in the song those three words they're said too much and not enough i love it where it could be anything you vaguely like or you're trying to impress the person who has it whatever it is and you don't really like it all that much but you're all oh yeah i love it baby i love it you love your friends that's a different kind of love to the love you have for your mum or your dog or your favourite pencil and then there's those weird kinds of love that some people have but other people that's most of us think are icky or embarrassing or just plain wrong those kinds of love have to be hidden away in special words with philia in them like necrophilia or coprophilia look it up or paedophilia not the kind of love i really want to talk about but then there's the usual kind and that comes in all different flavours too like love of your life and unrequited love usually love for the girl next door i used to think i loved the girl next door but it was just an adolescent thing really i only wanted to see her tits and she just thought it was kinda handy to have someone her own age living next door who she could play silly games with she never really loved me and in the end she moved away anyway and i never even heard from her again but i think about her from time to time but even that wasn't my first experience of love oh no i was only six years old when i fell in love the first time and my parents were all oh don't be so silly boys of your age don't fall in love but it sure felt like it to me when i was feeling all sick in my stomach and thinking about her all the time and making sure my fingernails were clean when i went to school and deliberately putting my tie on crooked so she could straighten it for me because she was a proper little girl who wanted to grow up to be a wife and mother and she'd seen her mother straighten her dad's tie so obviously that's the kind of thing you did when you loved somebody so she used to do it for me too made my head tingle anyway we only ever kissed a few times and then it all kinda blew over i never did really find out why she went off me for that other guy he even had dirty fingernails and she always told me she couldn't stand that i guess that's the thing about love you can have all these rules about the kind of person who's ideal and all that but when the right one comes along all those rules go out the window i used to ask my mum how will i know when i'm really in love and she used to say you'll just know that didn't really help me very much cos every time it happened to me i thought i knew but then it turned out i didn't know after all especially with that helen i used to let her do all sorts of stupid stuff to me just to try and spend time around her but then it turned out she was just making fun of me and talking about me behind my back saying how dumb i was to let her do all that stuff i used to get that sick feeling in my stomach when i was with her too but later on it turned into a different kind of sick anyway that was all a long time ago when i was only a little kid things got even worse when i was an older kid and i started getting all these urges i never realised it was so easy to mix up love and lust i spent a long time trying to sort that one out and it got me in one whole heap of a heck of a lot of trouble i can tell you i don't know what it was but when a girl kissed me i went kinda mad i think i remember reading once that love is a kind of madness or at least that hormonal buzz that comes with it you can get addicted to that a lot of people stay that way their whole life like rock stars and film stars and other folk with a lot of money they always say they're looking for love in their songs and films but really they're just addicted to hormones or the thrill of the chase or something i don't think that's real love at all but then when you get to thinking about real love and comparing it to that flirty kind of young love and chasing about all over the place it can seem kinda boring from the outside you know when two people have been together a long time like them old folk you see walking along holding hands and people will say oh look at that old couple isn't that wonderful and all the young people start to feel a bit sick not the kind of sick that i mentioned earlier but you know kind of embarrassed and ewww and like that because all they can think about the young people that is all they can think about is the old people doing it and i think it's universally recognised that the thought of old people doing it is kinda yucky until you're an old person that is and then i guess it's perfect natural even though you don't do it as often as you used to but that's because by the time you're that old you've discovered that love really isn't about doing it at all that's only one very small part of it and all the rest the stuff that sounds boring to the youngsters well that's the stuff that love is really about caring and sharing and understanding and being gentle and kind and doing stuff for each other because you want to make their lives easier and taking pleasure from simple things like a warm sunny morning or a kitten playing or your grandchildren bringing you a daisy chain so all in all i reckon love means different things to different people at different times of their lives but it always means something to somebody at every time of their life and that's why they say it makes the world go round.
Friday, August 03, 2012
100TWC - Day 7: Eternity
There's a trick to eternity. It has to do with elephants. Elephants and sand.
"How do you eat an elephant?" management trainees are sometimes asked. You can't, they say (unless they've ever, at any time in their lives, been on the Internet); it's too big. Well, says the tutor smugly, with your puny management trainee brains, YOU might think it's impossible. It's not impossible. It's just big. And big things are easy to cope with - if you break them down. So the traditional answer to the question "how do you eat an elephant?" is: one bite at a time.
So with unassailable logic, I submit that eternity is not impossibly big to deal with either. You just have to consider it one moment at a time. You might not know that a moment does, in fact, have a defined length. It's a medieval time unit approximately equal to one and one-half minutes. 90 seconds.
There's a lot of 90 secondses in eternity. Work it out. If eternity goes on forever, then how many moments - how many chunks of 90 seconds - are then in it? Well, as Aleksandr might say: Simples! An infinite number. Aha! you're thinking. Your logic is not as unassailable as you think. If there's an infinite number of moments in eternity then no matter how quickly you consider each one, you'll never get to the end. You could spend an eternity considering eternity's moments, and you'd still have an eternity left to go.
That's the thing with infinite numbers. They're not finite.
OK so maybe the elephant approach was a bad start. How about the sand thing? I'm guessing William Blake wasn't as much of a physicist as Lewis Carroll was a mathematician, but even so he may have been onto something when he wrote
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
Easy. All we have to do is find that world in a grain of sand and we'll not only have compressed eternity into an hour, but we might even have regained our lost innocence. The poetry of innocents may be dashed by the literal interpretations of physicists, but there is also poetry to be found in physics. Not to mention beauty. Don't believe me? Take a look at some fractal pictures. Consider the movements of planets, and the unexpected behaviours of sub-atomic particles (see yesterday's 100TWC challenge).
So is there a world in a grain of sand? Since that grain is the result of millennia of erosion by the sea, wind and ice, you could say it's undergone a world of change. If it were then to find itself on the seabed, compressed by millions of tons of similar grains resting on top of it, and subjected to the elevated temperatures closer to the Earth's core, it may very well find itself transmuted into sandstone. Yet more millennia later, after being erupted from the seabed through tectonic action, that same sandstone may well be mined and quarried, possibly built into a drystone wall; a church; a crofter's cottage, or even transported through prehistoric means and carved into one of the sarsens of Stonehenge. There may not be a world in the sandstone, but there is a world of possibility.
Each of these writing challenges only lasts half an hour. That's (*calculates*) 20 moments. If, by any stretch of the imagination, I've managed to emulate Blake, then I may have succeeded in holding half of eternity in that half-hour. Unfortunately, according to the mathematics of infinite numbers, that means I still have all of it left to deal with.
"How do you eat an elephant?" management trainees are sometimes asked. You can't, they say (unless they've ever, at any time in their lives, been on the Internet); it's too big. Well, says the tutor smugly, with your puny management trainee brains, YOU might think it's impossible. It's not impossible. It's just big. And big things are easy to cope with - if you break them down. So the traditional answer to the question "how do you eat an elephant?" is: one bite at a time.
So with unassailable logic, I submit that eternity is not impossibly big to deal with either. You just have to consider it one moment at a time. You might not know that a moment does, in fact, have a defined length. It's a medieval time unit approximately equal to one and one-half minutes. 90 seconds.
There's a lot of 90 secondses in eternity. Work it out. If eternity goes on forever, then how many moments - how many chunks of 90 seconds - are then in it? Well, as Aleksandr might say: Simples! An infinite number. Aha! you're thinking. Your logic is not as unassailable as you think. If there's an infinite number of moments in eternity then no matter how quickly you consider each one, you'll never get to the end. You could spend an eternity considering eternity's moments, and you'd still have an eternity left to go.
That's the thing with infinite numbers. They're not finite.
OK so maybe the elephant approach was a bad start. How about the sand thing? I'm guessing William Blake wasn't as much of a physicist as Lewis Carroll was a mathematician, but even so he may have been onto something when he wrote
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
Easy. All we have to do is find that world in a grain of sand and we'll not only have compressed eternity into an hour, but we might even have regained our lost innocence. The poetry of innocents may be dashed by the literal interpretations of physicists, but there is also poetry to be found in physics. Not to mention beauty. Don't believe me? Take a look at some fractal pictures. Consider the movements of planets, and the unexpected behaviours of sub-atomic particles (see yesterday's 100TWC challenge).
So is there a world in a grain of sand? Since that grain is the result of millennia of erosion by the sea, wind and ice, you could say it's undergone a world of change. If it were then to find itself on the seabed, compressed by millions of tons of similar grains resting on top of it, and subjected to the elevated temperatures closer to the Earth's core, it may very well find itself transmuted into sandstone. Yet more millennia later, after being erupted from the seabed through tectonic action, that same sandstone may well be mined and quarried, possibly built into a drystone wall; a church; a crofter's cottage, or even transported through prehistoric means and carved into one of the sarsens of Stonehenge. There may not be a world in the sandstone, but there is a world of possibility.
Each of these writing challenges only lasts half an hour. That's (*calculates*) 20 moments. If, by any stretch of the imagination, I've managed to emulate Blake, then I may have succeeded in holding half of eternity in that half-hour. Unfortunately, according to the mathematics of infinite numbers, that means I still have all of it left to deal with.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Shelving of the Underworld
Quite why the IKEA marketing department thought it was a good idea to name this after a Greek god escapes me for the moment. I mean, I could understand it if Hermes had been the God of Storage, but as it is, he's, according to Wikipedia, "... the great messenger of the gods [and] a guide to the Underworld."
He was, apparently, "... the patron of boundaries and of the travelers who cross them, of shepherds and cowherds, of the cunning of thieves, of orators and wit, of literature and poets, of athletics and sports, of weights and measures, of invention, and of commerce in general."
Hmm. Absolutely nothing there about storage. I guess if you chose to keep books in the unit there'd be a tenuous link to literature, but that's about it.
Wikipedia continues: "His symbols include the tortoise, the rooster, the winged sandals, the winged hat, and the caduceus." Not a cupboard then?
So I'd written the whole of this (extremely witty, I think you'll agree) post about our new shelving unit when my gaze alighted on the empty box propped up against the wall and I realised what a complete waste of wit it had been. The damn stuff isn't called Hermes at all. It's HEMNES.
He was, apparently, "... the patron of boundaries and of the travelers who cross them, of shepherds and cowherds, of the cunning of thieves, of orators and wit, of literature and poets, of athletics and sports, of weights and measures, of invention, and of commerce in general."
Hmm. Absolutely nothing there about storage. I guess if you chose to keep books in the unit there'd be a tenuous link to literature, but that's about it.
Wikipedia continues: "His symbols include the tortoise, the rooster, the winged sandals, the winged hat, and the caduceus." Not a cupboard then?
So I'd written the whole of this (extremely witty, I think you'll agree) post about our new shelving unit when my gaze alighted on the empty box propped up against the wall and I realised what a complete waste of wit it had been. The damn stuff isn't called Hermes at all. It's HEMNES.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
The same old new start
I have a friend who is relentlessly upbeat. Already, only a day in to 2011, everything is better, more wonderful, more inspiring and fulfilling than that tired old 2010 ever was, and it all looks set to get even better. I don't know how she does it, and to be honest I often find it exhausting simply to read her posts. Matching that level of energy is a distant dream. Or nightmare.
I have another friend who's approach to the New Year has been decidedly - I might even say determinedly - more downbeat. While she admits the possibility of good things to come, the admission is almost buried under the weight of expectation that, mostly, 2011 will be full of shit.
I mention these two friends only to illustrate the extremes of approach to the "new start" that the New Year represents. As with most extremes, the reality will be somewhere in between. Very few years are entirely bad or good. Yet another friend has recently written her(*) traditional year-end meme in which the questions "what was the high point of the year?" and "what was the low point of the year?" both appear, and both have an answer. Every year has its highs and lows. Some years the lows may be subterranean and most years the highs won't reach the cosmic levels we may dream of, but as an old manager of mine used to say: "aim for the stars and you might hit the trees." And I'd rather be sitting in a treetop than grubbing around in the roots.
Trouble is, new starts are never really new are they? We always bring with us the baggage of our previous experience. It colours everything we do. Both of those extremes I mentioned above are to some extent coping strategies for that. Believing in the power of positive thinking, maintaining expectations of the best outcomes, and preparing in minute detail for success are the habits of successful people, but are also powerful defences against the suppressed small voice of our baggage. That apprehensive and cynical voice which would counsel us to expect failure, and which talks loudest in those who can't maintain their Patronus against the Dementor's Kiss of past experience.
So as always I'll try to walk the middle path between bright shining (and some would say unrealistic) optimism and dragging soul-sapping (and others would say self-destructive) pessimism. I'll try to do more of the positive stuff - writing, thinking, reading, planning, plotting, querying, singing - and less of the distractive - playing cards, or Farkle, or otherwise spinning my wheels. I expect I'll succeed at this on some days and fail on others. But as Kipling pointed out success and failure are both impostors. I might be lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, and end up in that treetop or on a journey to the stars, or I might have to scratch around for a slightly less impressive "high point" for the year-end meme. Either way it'll be fun. It always is.
(*) Incidentally, I *do* have male friends too. The fact that all three of the quoted friends are of the female persuasion is pure coincidence. Well, maybe not a coincidence exactly. More a natural consequence of there being only a handful of the blokes I know who write blogs.
I have another friend who's approach to the New Year has been decidedly - I might even say determinedly - more downbeat. While she admits the possibility of good things to come, the admission is almost buried under the weight of expectation that, mostly, 2011 will be full of shit.
I mention these two friends only to illustrate the extremes of approach to the "new start" that the New Year represents. As with most extremes, the reality will be somewhere in between. Very few years are entirely bad or good. Yet another friend has recently written her(*) traditional year-end meme in which the questions "what was the high point of the year?" and "what was the low point of the year?" both appear, and both have an answer. Every year has its highs and lows. Some years the lows may be subterranean and most years the highs won't reach the cosmic levels we may dream of, but as an old manager of mine used to say: "aim for the stars and you might hit the trees." And I'd rather be sitting in a treetop than grubbing around in the roots.
Trouble is, new starts are never really new are they? We always bring with us the baggage of our previous experience. It colours everything we do. Both of those extremes I mentioned above are to some extent coping strategies for that. Believing in the power of positive thinking, maintaining expectations of the best outcomes, and preparing in minute detail for success are the habits of successful people, but are also powerful defences against the suppressed small voice of our baggage. That apprehensive and cynical voice which would counsel us to expect failure, and which talks loudest in those who can't maintain their Patronus against the Dementor's Kiss of past experience.
So as always I'll try to walk the middle path between bright shining (and some would say unrealistic) optimism and dragging soul-sapping (and others would say self-destructive) pessimism. I'll try to do more of the positive stuff - writing, thinking, reading, planning, plotting, querying, singing - and less of the distractive - playing cards, or Farkle, or otherwise spinning my wheels. I expect I'll succeed at this on some days and fail on others. But as Kipling pointed out success and failure are both impostors. I might be lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, and end up in that treetop or on a journey to the stars, or I might have to scratch around for a slightly less impressive "high point" for the year-end meme. Either way it'll be fun. It always is.
(*) Incidentally, I *do* have male friends too. The fact that all three of the quoted friends are of the female persuasion is pure coincidence. Well, maybe not a coincidence exactly. More a natural consequence of there being only a handful of the blokes I know who write blogs.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Soapy fish
Part of a conversation we were having the other day triggered a childhood memory illustrating an almost-forgotten art in modern households. Thrift. For your own amusement, try explaining this to one or more young people between the ages of 10 and 25, and watch their faces as the disbelief and incredulity mounts at the realisation that anyone could have gone to so much trouble to save such small sums of money.
When I was a kid, soap was - relatively - expensive. Or at least, that's what my Mum told me (hence the tag). So it was important to make it last as long as possible. Naturally, that didn't involve NOT washing - being thought dirty was a crime (or even, a SIN!) even worse than being thought a spendthrift - but it did mean hanging on to each bar of soap until it was totally used up, and we had an ingenious method of using those last tricky little slivers that could slip out of your hand and hide on bathroom floor, behind the pedestal. A soap fish. Made of synthetic sponge in the shape of a fish - it had eyes, and fins, and everything - you could shove your soapy remains up its jacksie and use it to wash in the bath. And I did. Pretty much until I started big school. I clearly remember the frustration of not being able to actually play with the damn thing in the bath - it was a fish, after all - on account of that dissolving its soapy guts too quickly for True Thrift(*). No, it was for washing, not for playing. That was made abundantly clear.
The soapy sponge fish (or was it a spongy soap fish?) fell apart eventually, and my Mum was gutted to discover she couldn't find a replacement anywhere. It was OK though, because by then I was old enough to learn the trick of "gluing" the old sliver of soap to a new bar, carefully sticking down the edges all round so you didn't accidentally knock the parasitic little piece off its bigger, younger brother. Waste not, want not, as was constantly drummed into me as soon as I was old enough to hear.
Incidentally the "importance" of not wasting soap - engraved deeply as it was on my psyche as a child - stayed with me long after it should have done. I think I was in my early forties, stood at the bathroom sink gluing some soap together when I suddenly thought "what the FUCK am I doing?"
(*) Could be a good title for a movie. What do you think?
When I was a kid, soap was - relatively - expensive. Or at least, that's what my Mum told me (hence the tag). So it was important to make it last as long as possible. Naturally, that didn't involve NOT washing - being thought dirty was a crime (or even, a SIN!) even worse than being thought a spendthrift - but it did mean hanging on to each bar of soap until it was totally used up, and we had an ingenious method of using those last tricky little slivers that could slip out of your hand and hide on bathroom floor, behind the pedestal. A soap fish. Made of synthetic sponge in the shape of a fish - it had eyes, and fins, and everything - you could shove your soapy remains up its jacksie and use it to wash in the bath. And I did. Pretty much until I started big school. I clearly remember the frustration of not being able to actually play with the damn thing in the bath - it was a fish, after all - on account of that dissolving its soapy guts too quickly for True Thrift(*). No, it was for washing, not for playing. That was made abundantly clear.
The soapy sponge fish (or was it a spongy soap fish?) fell apart eventually, and my Mum was gutted to discover she couldn't find a replacement anywhere. It was OK though, because by then I was old enough to learn the trick of "gluing" the old sliver of soap to a new bar, carefully sticking down the edges all round so you didn't accidentally knock the parasitic little piece off its bigger, younger brother. Waste not, want not, as was constantly drummed into me as soon as I was old enough to hear.
Incidentally the "importance" of not wasting soap - engraved deeply as it was on my psyche as a child - stayed with me long after it should have done. I think I was in my early forties, stood at the bathroom sink gluing some soap together when I suddenly thought "what the FUCK am I doing?"
(*) Could be a good title for a movie. What do you think?
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saddle sore
Well I suppose I should get back to this blogging lark. Trouble is, over the past couple of weeks, there's been a decided shortage of blog fodder and, perhaps more important, enthusiasm. My urge to commit thoughts to the ether tends to come in waves, with an amplitude of about - well - two weeks. I can tune to a different frequency if there's a lot of material about, or if something spurs me to a rant, but otherwise I'll just let it drift.
My main sources of inspiration haven't been of much help during the most recent hiatus. The Large Decorating Project is at the preparation stage, and as it is... Large... this stage is taking a long time. And, being preparation, it doesn't lend itself to much in the way of excitement, visible progress, or anything much worth writing about. My small (but dedicated!) audience wouldn't thank me, I'm sure, for endless posts about sanding, filling, more sanding, priming, and the long and tedious task (which occupied several hours this last weekend) of cleaning the plaster, PVA, and primer splashes off the floor. A task which, with the current state of my knees, I can only attack in sessions of about two hours at a time.
The Main Writing Project is still stalled, waiting for one of my many queries to bear fruit. It's probably about time to send out a fresh crop, and also long past time to pick up another project, but distractions and displacement activities have had the upper hand for months and the notional "garret studio" is starting to look rather cobwebby and abandoned.
Such distractions as there have been, have proved very entertaining. With my birthday imminent, Nikki presented me with the Collector's Edition BluRay disk of Avatar yesterday, which we sat down all together to watch during the afternoon - all 170 extended minutes of it. Fabulous. Saturday night saw us in town (an extremely rare occurrence) to celebrate a friend's birthday in the beautifully salubrious setting of The English Lounge. A perfect choice for a relaxing few pints in the company of friends, some of whom we haven't seen for way too long, and catch up with news.
It's a slight overstatement to say that the past two weeks have been entirely devoid of bloggable stuff, and indeed notes have been taken for future posts which might be coming your way over the next few days, but in the main it is all sanding, filling and painting for the foreseeable, so if you were waiting for nuggets you'll have to wait a while longer I'm afraid. And what's more my enthusiasm for anything in particular is likely to take a hard knock tomorrow, when for the first time in I don't know how long I'll be taking the early road to Slough (a 5am start is traditional, to be sure of getting into the office by about 9) to help out with testing on our current project. I've been lucky this last year or so, to avoid travel. After several years of making the Slough journey up to 3 times a week, followed by a couple of years taking the train to Croydon, I've somehow managed to wangle an entire year of working at home. But as there's no remote access to the test rigs, and there are small pockets of the current system that only I know anything about, my presence has been demanded and I must answer the call. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
My main sources of inspiration haven't been of much help during the most recent hiatus. The Large Decorating Project is at the preparation stage, and as it is... Large... this stage is taking a long time. And, being preparation, it doesn't lend itself to much in the way of excitement, visible progress, or anything much worth writing about. My small (but dedicated!) audience wouldn't thank me, I'm sure, for endless posts about sanding, filling, more sanding, priming, and the long and tedious task (which occupied several hours this last weekend) of cleaning the plaster, PVA, and primer splashes off the floor. A task which, with the current state of my knees, I can only attack in sessions of about two hours at a time.
The Main Writing Project is still stalled, waiting for one of my many queries to bear fruit. It's probably about time to send out a fresh crop, and also long past time to pick up another project, but distractions and displacement activities have had the upper hand for months and the notional "garret studio" is starting to look rather cobwebby and abandoned.
Such distractions as there have been, have proved very entertaining. With my birthday imminent, Nikki presented me with the Collector's Edition BluRay disk of Avatar yesterday, which we sat down all together to watch during the afternoon - all 170 extended minutes of it. Fabulous. Saturday night saw us in town (an extremely rare occurrence) to celebrate a friend's birthday in the beautifully salubrious setting of The English Lounge. A perfect choice for a relaxing few pints in the company of friends, some of whom we haven't seen for way too long, and catch up with news.
It's a slight overstatement to say that the past two weeks have been entirely devoid of bloggable stuff, and indeed notes have been taken for future posts which might be coming your way over the next few days, but in the main it is all sanding, filling and painting for the foreseeable, so if you were waiting for nuggets you'll have to wait a while longer I'm afraid. And what's more my enthusiasm for anything in particular is likely to take a hard knock tomorrow, when for the first time in I don't know how long I'll be taking the early road to Slough (a 5am start is traditional, to be sure of getting into the office by about 9) to help out with testing on our current project. I've been lucky this last year or so, to avoid travel. After several years of making the Slough journey up to 3 times a week, followed by a couple of years taking the train to Croydon, I've somehow managed to wangle an entire year of working at home. But as there's no remote access to the test rigs, and there are small pockets of the current system that only I know anything about, my presence has been demanded and I must answer the call. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
Friday, November 05, 2010
LOL
Who'd have ever thought - more than ten years ago when we were all chatting - that there would come a time when it was acceptable to put "LOL" in a professional email?
Or that there'd be a chat client available to everyone in the office, regularly used for ad-hoc enquiries (which we used to do by phone) and that we'd be happily LOLling away in there too, not to mention adding smilies and whatnot.
Funny how things change. OK, we're not yet at the level of doing a ROFLMAOPMPTIME during the working day (thank God!), but surely it can only be a matter of time. Retirement beckons, I think, before all dignity is lost.
Or that there'd be a chat client available to everyone in the office, regularly used for ad-hoc enquiries (which we used to do by phone) and that we'd be happily LOLling away in there too, not to mention adding smilies and whatnot.
Funny how things change. OK, we're not yet at the level of doing a ROFLMAOPMPTIME during the working day (thank God!), but surely it can only be a matter of time. Retirement beckons, I think, before all dignity is lost.
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
One Thing
I think I've discovered a natural law. One of those like Sod's Law, or Gunnersen's Law, or Sattinger's Law. I hesitate to name it Digger's Law, because I'm not certain it has remained undiscovered until now. But I could perhaps call it the Law of Single Omission.
It goes something like this. If there are a number of things to be done, where "things" can be any list of objects or tasks and "to be done" is the action you are performing on them, then if your concentration lapses at any point there will always be one thing left over at the end.
Thus there is always one thing left to wash up after you've let the water out of the sink. Probably sitting on the cooker behind you rather than on the draining board.
And after you've put that shopping list back in your pocket, assuming there are so few items left on it you'll be able to remember them all, you'll get home to find there's one thing left you didn't buy.
It goes something like this. If there are a number of things to be done, where "things" can be any list of objects or tasks and "to be done" is the action you are performing on them, then if your concentration lapses at any point there will always be one thing left over at the end.
Thus there is always one thing left to wash up after you've let the water out of the sink. Probably sitting on the cooker behind you rather than on the draining board.
And after you've put that shopping list back in your pocket, assuming there are so few items left on it you'll be able to remember them all, you'll get home to find there's one thing left you didn't buy.
Monday, September 06, 2010
Blog fodder
There are times when I have absolutely no enthusiasm for blogging. I'm sure I'm not alone in that. And then there are times when the urge to write is so strong it's like a physical ache. Not ever having experienced withdrawal symptoms, thank God (well... not counting caffeine withdrawal which I've gone through on three separate occasions. I don't suppose a mild headache really cuts it as 'withdrawal'), I imagine that this nagging emptiness combined with the need to do something without really knowing what is about as close as I'll ever get to dependence on 'substances.'
The fates often play a cruel joke on me by giving me lots to write about on those days when I don't feel like it, whereas on the days when my enthusiasm knows no bounds there's nowt to write about. So during those Times of Limited Energy, when subjects present themselves, I make little notes under the general heading 'Blog Fodder' so that I'll have some material for when Mr Muse returns.
And then, being a disorganised sort of chap, sometimes those blog fodder notes get a bit lost, and don't turn up 'til months later. Now you begin to perceive where this rambling is taking us. Back to November 2009, when I made a note about a daily horoscope that was particularly apposite:
"In the midst of a sea of change, you decide that the more routine you can make your day, the better. Doing some tasks in a familiar manner now helps you relax, while only last week they made you bored and restless."
Which I found passing strange at the time, as I was engaged in the TENTH recasting of the deployment schedule for the project I was working on. Dates had kept slipping, and obstacles kept presenting themselves. Servers weren't ready, or had disappeared owing to incorrect DNS entries, or the admin password had been lost or corrupted, or the patch levels were wrong, or the management priorities changed and now we needed to do applications BEFORE firewalls, etc, etc, etc. Only the week before, as the horoscope rightly reminded me, this constant change had been doing my head in. But on the day in question, I distinctly remember thinking that the only thing I really wanted to do was sit mindlessly shifting rows about in a spreadsheet because it was a simple, familiar task too close to therapy for comfort.
The fates often play a cruel joke on me by giving me lots to write about on those days when I don't feel like it, whereas on the days when my enthusiasm knows no bounds there's nowt to write about. So during those Times of Limited Energy, when subjects present themselves, I make little notes under the general heading 'Blog Fodder' so that I'll have some material for when Mr Muse returns.
And then, being a disorganised sort of chap, sometimes those blog fodder notes get a bit lost, and don't turn up 'til months later. Now you begin to perceive where this rambling is taking us. Back to November 2009, when I made a note about a daily horoscope that was particularly apposite:
"In the midst of a sea of change, you decide that the more routine you can make your day, the better. Doing some tasks in a familiar manner now helps you relax, while only last week they made you bored and restless."
Which I found passing strange at the time, as I was engaged in the TENTH recasting of the deployment schedule for the project I was working on. Dates had kept slipping, and obstacles kept presenting themselves. Servers weren't ready, or had disappeared owing to incorrect DNS entries, or the admin password had been lost or corrupted, or the patch levels were wrong, or the management priorities changed and now we needed to do applications BEFORE firewalls, etc, etc, etc. Only the week before, as the horoscope rightly reminded me, this constant change had been doing my head in. But on the day in question, I distinctly remember thinking that the only thing I really wanted to do was sit mindlessly shifting rows about in a spreadsheet because it was a simple, familiar task too close to therapy for comfort.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Missing the festivals
We had a surfeit of festivals in Chorlton this weekend. The ZestQuest BeerFest - which we have been known to visit in years past - on Friday and Saturday; and the Beech Road Festival - which to be honest we've missed more than we've hit over the past ten years - on Sunday.
This year, we contrived to miss both. Couldn't really summon up the enthusiasm on Friday night, Saturday afternoon was never really an option (I can only do afternoon drinking if it's immediately followed by evening drinking), and I knew, based on last year's experience, that there'd be no beer left by Saturday night so there was no point going. In this at least I was proved right when a contingent of Chorlton Players were turned away at 7pm as most of the beer had run out. An organisational nadir for Chorlton's favourite (i.e. only) beer festival, it has to be said.
Sunday was forecast rain and in any case we had plans to begin the long task of tidying up the attic space, not to mention meeting our new neighbour, so we made an early decision to opt out of Beech Road festivities again this year. In this case it may have been the wrong decision, as the rain held off and a good time was (allegedly) had by all. But we had a good time too, so it wasn't all bad.
Not only did we greet our new neighbour, we were invited round to imbibe a few glasses of wine in the company of her and her parents. All very nice people and another fine addition to the community. 2010 is going to be a big year in terms of changes on the street, as the guys further along finally put their house on the market this week too, so assuming they have any luck selling we'll be welcoming yet another new arrival before the year's out.
This year, we contrived to miss both. Couldn't really summon up the enthusiasm on Friday night, Saturday afternoon was never really an option (I can only do afternoon drinking if it's immediately followed by evening drinking), and I knew, based on last year's experience, that there'd be no beer left by Saturday night so there was no point going. In this at least I was proved right when a contingent of Chorlton Players were turned away at 7pm as most of the beer had run out. An organisational nadir for Chorlton's favourite (i.e. only) beer festival, it has to be said.
Sunday was forecast rain and in any case we had plans to begin the long task of tidying up the attic space, not to mention meeting our new neighbour, so we made an early decision to opt out of Beech Road festivities again this year. In this case it may have been the wrong decision, as the rain held off and a good time was (allegedly) had by all. But we had a good time too, so it wasn't all bad.
Not only did we greet our new neighbour, we were invited round to imbibe a few glasses of wine in the company of her and her parents. All very nice people and another fine addition to the community. 2010 is going to be a big year in terms of changes on the street, as the guys further along finally put their house on the market this week too, so assuming they have any luck selling we'll be welcoming yet another new arrival before the year's out.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Stop worrying
The "Quote of the Day" widget on my Google homepage regularly gives me a smile. Occasionally a laugh. All too rarely it delivers something so appropriate, so timely, all I can do is listen to the sound of my jaw dropping while I sit immobilised at the keyboard.
Whoever ceases to be a student has never been a student.
-George Iles
So I'll stop worrying that I'm 53 years old and I still live in a house where half the rooms (including our bedroom) have no carpet. Where half-completed construction projects shed their dust (it's a SIN!) over the entire house. Where my tools litter the study floor alongside the disassembled pieces of that rim latch I was saving for when I repair the door on the spare room. Where the attic is stuffed with things of almost no perceptible value, which I can't bring myself to chuck out in case someone will offer me a few measly quid for them on eBay.
Assuming I ever got around to listing them there.
It used to scare me - a little - how much this house resembles the digs I had as a student. It's even in the same road (albeit the nicer end, I tell myself). But, you know, it's a home. I like it. Love it, actually. And it does get better, slowly. Or "at my own pace" as I prefer to put it.
It's a place where there's always time for a laugh, or a cup of tea. Time for a leisurely breakfast, a game of Buzz, or a movie. And where I never need to feel pressured to DO anything, or guilty that I haven't.
Yeah. In the words of a popular icon from my youth: "What, me worry?"
Whoever ceases to be a student has never been a student.
-George Iles
So I'll stop worrying that I'm 53 years old and I still live in a house where half the rooms (including our bedroom) have no carpet. Where half-completed construction projects shed their dust (it's a SIN!) over the entire house. Where my tools litter the study floor alongside the disassembled pieces of that rim latch I was saving for when I repair the door on the spare room. Where the attic is stuffed with things of almost no perceptible value, which I can't bring myself to chuck out in case someone will offer me a few measly quid for them on eBay.
Assuming I ever got around to listing them there.
It used to scare me - a little - how much this house resembles the digs I had as a student. It's even in the same road (albeit the nicer end, I tell myself). But, you know, it's a home. I like it. Love it, actually. And it does get better, slowly. Or "at my own pace" as I prefer to put it.
It's a place where there's always time for a laugh, or a cup of tea. Time for a leisurely breakfast, a game of Buzz, or a movie. And where I never need to feel pressured to DO anything, or guilty that I haven't.
Yeah. In the words of a popular icon from my youth: "What, me worry?"
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Ears burning
I've been neglecting this blog for the last fortnight or so (hence the flurry of updates this morning), but I have an excuse. It is, of course, Storm the Charts, which I admit has been occupying most of my (non-work) attention while I apply, wait to be listed, listen to all the other acts' music (over 300 acts signed up now, and the Facebook group tipped over the 17,000 member mark earlier this morning), and email all my friends - yes, actually. All of them.
So I know I'm responsible for a good couple of dozen members of the group (I saw them sign up after the emails went out) and may even have introduced a few people to the whole idea of Facebook. Not sure that's such a good thing ;o)
It is now indisputable that if every member of the group downloads the same track in the target week, that track will enter the top ten. How cool is that? Of course we're still hoping to do a lot better than that. Not everyone will be able to afford the £40 it would cost them to download ALL 40 tracks, but we should be able to do better than 1.
So I know I'm responsible for a good couple of dozen members of the group (I saw them sign up after the emails went out) and may even have introduced a few people to the whole idea of Facebook. Not sure that's such a good thing ;o)
It is now indisputable that if every member of the group downloads the same track in the target week, that track will enter the top ten. How cool is that? Of course we're still hoping to do a lot better than that. Not everyone will be able to afford the £40 it would cost them to download ALL 40 tracks, but we should be able to do better than 1.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Making do with instant
Major and ongoing disturbance to sleep patterns has its advantages. For a long time now, one or other of us has been waking up between 5 and 5.30 - occasionally even earlier - and not being able to get back to sleep. Not having to leave until 7.30 to take Nikki to work, such an early rise time translates into a 2-hour morning stint at the puter and - the real bonus - enough time to enjoy a pot of real coffee.
The downside is flaking out in front of the TV by 8.30, the consequent early bedtime, and an inevitable early wake-up again. It's a vicious circle, I tell you!
But guess what? Something even more vicious? The one day in - what? 20? 30? - that we do manage to stay asleep until the alarm kicks in at 6.30, means there's only time for one cup of (instant) coffee. And when you've been used to savouring two mugs of delicious Java fresh from the cafetière, that really bites.
The downside is flaking out in front of the TV by 8.30, the consequent early bedtime, and an inevitable early wake-up again. It's a vicious circle, I tell you!
But guess what? Something even more vicious? The one day in - what? 20? 30? - that we do manage to stay asleep until the alarm kicks in at 6.30, means there's only time for one cup of (instant) coffee. And when you've been used to savouring two mugs of delicious Java fresh from the cafetière, that really bites.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Strangely quiet in the studio
After the rush (both temporal and emotional) we went through getting Weird and Wonderful out into the public domain, this week has been strangely anticlimactic.
I've likened it to an exciting train ride - a magical mystery trip if you like.
The train barrels into the station... and there's no-one there to meet you. You step down, the train pulls out with a blast of its whistle, and you're left standing on the platform. Suddenly there's no noise, or movement, or excitement. Just silence, emptiness, and a still, small feeling of expectation.
This could be the start of something. Or it could be another deserted whistle stop cafe in the long journey of life. Either way, I think it'll be a while before we can tell the difference.
I've likened it to an exciting train ride - a magical mystery trip if you like.
The train barrels into the station... and there's no-one there to meet you. You step down, the train pulls out with a blast of its whistle, and you're left standing on the platform. Suddenly there's no noise, or movement, or excitement. Just silence, emptiness, and a still, small feeling of expectation.
This could be the start of something. Or it could be another deserted whistle stop cafe in the long journey of life. Either way, I think it'll be a while before we can tell the difference.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
PS
Received an email from an old colleague this morning in which he'd added a PS.
It started me thinking about what an anachronism this is now. Post-script. In the days before WYSIWYG editors when text was always serial and if you remembered something after the fact you had to add it to the end. Why would you do that now? Why not just stick it inline, where it would have been if you'd thought of it at the time?
Two possibilities sprang to mind. Maybe adding it in at the right place would disturb the sense of the sentence, and you don't have time (or you're too lazy) to frig around with it. Far simpler to just jot the thought down whole, at the end, in a PS.
Or maybe you already sent the email, and you want to make it clear that what you send after it should have been part of it in the first place. Maybe we need another standard subject prefix of "PS:" to go along with "Re:" and "Fw:"
So from a point where I thought PS belonged in the age of Basildon Bond and sealing wax, I've now convinced myself that it'll be around for a fair few years yet.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Happy New Year
I suppose I should write something on here to herald the new year, even though it looked for a while as if things were conspiring to allow the shit to ooze through into 2010 from 2009. I almost got dragged into a pointless debate about whether it's a new decade or not after some crabby old bat left a rather short-tempered reply to my New Year's facebook status, but in the end I managed not to rise to her ill-flavoured bait. Breaking with tradition by working at home for the first day back at work after a lengthy period of absence (17 wonderful days) on account of (a) the snow and (b) Nikki taking a day off sick with a nasty cold, saw me locked out of the corporate network owing to my anti-virus definitions being too far out of date.
Trouble was, several thousand other staff members were in the same boat, and had also elected to work at home. I don't know whether their wives/girlfriends/partners had nasty colds, but most of them probably had snow. So the VPN was totally swamped and my repeated attempts to update my AV definitions resulted in nothing but server timeouts throughout the whole day. By far the quietest first-day-back on record, the downside being that I had to struggle into the office through even more snow (around 7 inches fell overnight) today to get access.
Lest this first post of 2010 leave as nasty a taste in the mouth as the aforementioned crabby bait, I should say that it's not all been bad. I did get to see Avatar for a second time (on New Year's Eve actually, but who's counting?) after we cried off from the planned NYE party with various medical complaints; the Christmas deccies came down in short order (two hours) on Saturday, and now sit boxed awaiting their annual departure for the upper floor; and our aquarium completed its nitrogen cycle on Sunday, so we popped out and bought another three cherry barbs to make the shoal up to six. Apart from one very large female who arrived in the new group, the other five are now virtually indistinguishable, so we no longer know which is Bee, Bop, or Lulu. It's looking like we may need a rechristening. Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich is a possibility, although as there's six of the blighters we'll have to split Dave and Dee, and of course the enormous female just has to be Tich.
Trouble was, several thousand other staff members were in the same boat, and had also elected to work at home. I don't know whether their wives/girlfriends/partners had nasty colds, but most of them probably had snow. So the VPN was totally swamped and my repeated attempts to update my AV definitions resulted in nothing but server timeouts throughout the whole day. By far the quietest first-day-back on record, the downside being that I had to struggle into the office through even more snow (around 7 inches fell overnight) today to get access.
Lest this first post of 2010 leave as nasty a taste in the mouth as the aforementioned crabby bait, I should say that it's not all been bad. I did get to see Avatar for a second time (on New Year's Eve actually, but who's counting?) after we cried off from the planned NYE party with various medical complaints; the Christmas deccies came down in short order (two hours) on Saturday, and now sit boxed awaiting their annual departure for the upper floor; and our aquarium completed its nitrogen cycle on Sunday, so we popped out and bought another three cherry barbs to make the shoal up to six. Apart from one very large female who arrived in the new group, the other five are now virtually indistinguishable, so we no longer know which is Bee, Bop, or Lulu. It's looking like we may need a rechristening. Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich is a possibility, although as there's six of the blighters we'll have to split Dave and Dee, and of course the enormous female just has to be Tich.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Year end meme
Snagged, as most of these things are (on my blog at least!) from Diane, this is probably the last chance I could have to answer some of the more Christmassy questions in this meme, and what better way to spend the last few moments of Christmas Morning before popping down to open our presents? :D
1. Was 2009 a good year for you?
It brought a lot of disappointment, and on the work front much stress, worry and confrontation which isn't over yet, but there were high points too. Not a "good" year, as such, and I'll be glad to see the back of it, but let's just say it could have been worse. We're still employed, healthy, and together which are the most important things (not necessarily in that order lol).
2. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Went on strike (and stood on the picket line). Wrote a radio play.
3. What was your favourite moment of the year?
The moment I learned a New York agent had requested my full manuscript.
4. What was your least favourite moment of the year?
The moment I learned the New York agent didn't want to pursue my full manuscript.
5. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I never make them.
6. What are your plans for 2010?
Trip to the Lakes in May, decorate our bedroom, write more!
7. Did anyone close to you give birth?
A cousin's son had a baby boy at the beginning of November. Several of the book club girls gave birth, although I'm not sure they qualify as "close" ;o)
8. Did anyone close to you die?
My uncle (and the last surviving of my Dad's brothers) died last month.
9. How many weddings did you go to?
None.
10. What countries did you visit?
Umm... Wales?
11. What date in 2009 will remain etched in your memory?
The day I learned Shiny Media had filed for bankruptcy.
12. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Making the long list for the Alfred Bradley Bursary Award.
13. What was your biggest failure?
You've only failed when you give up trying. I haven't given up trying.
14. Did you suffer any illness or injury?
A few coughs and wheezes. Nothing serious.
15. What was the best thing you bought?
The biUbe aquarium for Nikki's main Christmas present.
16. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Friends and family have all had successes to celebrate during the year in some way.
17. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Our CEO. All our politicians, with their dodgy expenses. All world leaders, with their pathetic show at Copenhagen. Any Americans who voted against universal health care plans. Various groups of terrorists.
18. Where did most of your money go?
I wish I knew!
19. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
That request for a full. I literally jumped up and down.
20. What songs will always remind you of 2009?
Spin Doctor. The second song to be recorded for our second album - Weird & Wonderful - which will be released next year. It's about corrupt politicians and it sums up the year for me (even though it was written some time ago).
21. Compared to this time last year are you:
a) Fatter or thinner? Almost exactly the same
b) Happier or sadder? Probably the same there too.
c) Richer or poorer? I feel poorer, but I don't really know why!
22. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing!
23. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Playing Spider Solitaire
24. How will you be spending Christmas?
Eating, drinking and being merry at home with Nikki, and friends, and (close) family.
25. Which LJ users did you meet for the first time?
Ah. An LJ-specific question. Let's assume it means "which online friends..." and the answer is, this year, none.
26. Did you fall in love in 2009?
I fall in love with Nikki all over again every day :o)
27. What was your favourite month of 2009?
May, definitely. The month we bought the bird feeder for the garden, did a lot of work to tidy the garden up, Natalie came to stay for several weeks' study leave, we endured - I mean enjoyed - Annie's birthday camping weekend near Buxton, went on the Gannet & Puffin cruise and to see the new Star Trek movie.
28. How did you see in the New Year?
Stayed in Chesterfield with mates and had a fantastic night playing daft games, exchanging secret Santa presents and watching indoor fireworks. Oh, and drinking.
29. What was your favourite TV show?
Really enjoyed Spooks this year (shown in North America as "MI5" I believe, owing to the negative racial connotation of the word 'spooks' over there).
30. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
I don't hate anyone.
31. What was/were the best books you read?
The Runes of the Earth by Stephen Donaldson. First in the final Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever (to be a quadrilogy, apparently), always one of my most favourite series it was a delightful revelation to discover he'd picked up the story again.
32. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Not a new discovery, but I REdiscovered my love for Pink Floyd. I'd quite literally forgotten how good they were/are. Listened to their stuff a lot lately. King Crimson too, as it happens. Maybe it's been a year for musical nostalgia.
33. What did you want and get?
Can't think of anything that I wanted really badly apart from a writing contract, and that comes under...
34. What did you want and not get?
A writing contract.
35. What was your favourite film this year?
Watchmen. Visually stunning.
36. What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
Well, not actually ON my birthday, but shortly before, Nikki treated me to a spa day at a nearby hotel complex. It were fab. I don't think I've ever been so relaxed. This year wasn't a milestone of any kind. Unless 53 has some special meaning somewhere in the world. Comments from numerologists welcome!
37. What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?
Persuading that New York agent that my novel really is the one they've been looking for.
38. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
39. What kept you sane?
The people close to me. Jointly and severally, they're wonderful.
40. Which celebrity did you fancy the most?
Er... Cheryl Cole. Sorry.
41. Which political issue stirred you the most?
The expenses scandal. I could spit vitriol about that for hours. Not only the fact of it, but their entire ATTITUDE to it.
42. Who did you miss?
Anyone who's not here. Duh.
43. Did you treat somebody badly in 2009
Probably didn't see as much of my Mum as I should.
44. Did somebody treat you badly in 2009?
Well there was that guy who cut me up on the M60...
45. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned this year?
Don't do today what you can put off until tomorrow. Play Spider Solitaire instead (q.v.).
46. What would you like to have in 2010 that you didn't have in 2009?
Sorry to, you know, repeat myself, but a writing contract would be nice.
47. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year...
Too many. And it's present opening time, so I must dash!
1. Was 2009 a good year for you?
It brought a lot of disappointment, and on the work front much stress, worry and confrontation which isn't over yet, but there were high points too. Not a "good" year, as such, and I'll be glad to see the back of it, but let's just say it could have been worse. We're still employed, healthy, and together which are the most important things (not necessarily in that order lol).
2. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Went on strike (and stood on the picket line). Wrote a radio play.
3. What was your favourite moment of the year?
The moment I learned a New York agent had requested my full manuscript.
4. What was your least favourite moment of the year?
The moment I learned the New York agent didn't want to pursue my full manuscript.
5. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I never make them.
6. What are your plans for 2010?
Trip to the Lakes in May, decorate our bedroom, write more!
7. Did anyone close to you give birth?
A cousin's son had a baby boy at the beginning of November. Several of the book club girls gave birth, although I'm not sure they qualify as "close" ;o)
8. Did anyone close to you die?
My uncle (and the last surviving of my Dad's brothers) died last month.
9. How many weddings did you go to?
None.
10. What countries did you visit?
Umm... Wales?
11. What date in 2009 will remain etched in your memory?
The day I learned Shiny Media had filed for bankruptcy.
12. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Making the long list for the Alfred Bradley Bursary Award.
13. What was your biggest failure?
You've only failed when you give up trying. I haven't given up trying.
14. Did you suffer any illness or injury?
A few coughs and wheezes. Nothing serious.
15. What was the best thing you bought?
The biUbe aquarium for Nikki's main Christmas present.
16. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Friends and family have all had successes to celebrate during the year in some way.
17. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Our CEO. All our politicians, with their dodgy expenses. All world leaders, with their pathetic show at Copenhagen. Any Americans who voted against universal health care plans. Various groups of terrorists.
18. Where did most of your money go?
I wish I knew!
19. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
That request for a full. I literally jumped up and down.
20. What songs will always remind you of 2009?
Spin Doctor. The second song to be recorded for our second album - Weird & Wonderful - which will be released next year. It's about corrupt politicians and it sums up the year for me (even though it was written some time ago).
21. Compared to this time last year are you:
a) Fatter or thinner? Almost exactly the same
b) Happier or sadder? Probably the same there too.
c) Richer or poorer? I feel poorer, but I don't really know why!
22. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing!
23. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Playing Spider Solitaire
24. How will you be spending Christmas?
Eating, drinking and being merry at home with Nikki, and friends, and (close) family.
25. Which LJ users did you meet for the first time?
Ah. An LJ-specific question. Let's assume it means "which online friends..." and the answer is, this year, none.
26. Did you fall in love in 2009?
I fall in love with Nikki all over again every day :o)
27. What was your favourite month of 2009?
May, definitely. The month we bought the bird feeder for the garden, did a lot of work to tidy the garden up, Natalie came to stay for several weeks' study leave, we endured - I mean enjoyed - Annie's birthday camping weekend near Buxton, went on the Gannet & Puffin cruise and to see the new Star Trek movie.
28. How did you see in the New Year?
Stayed in Chesterfield with mates and had a fantastic night playing daft games, exchanging secret Santa presents and watching indoor fireworks. Oh, and drinking.
29. What was your favourite TV show?
Really enjoyed Spooks this year (shown in North America as "MI5" I believe, owing to the negative racial connotation of the word 'spooks' over there).
30. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
I don't hate anyone.
31. What was/were the best books you read?
The Runes of the Earth by Stephen Donaldson. First in the final Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever (to be a quadrilogy, apparently), always one of my most favourite series it was a delightful revelation to discover he'd picked up the story again.
32. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Not a new discovery, but I REdiscovered my love for Pink Floyd. I'd quite literally forgotten how good they were/are. Listened to their stuff a lot lately. King Crimson too, as it happens. Maybe it's been a year for musical nostalgia.
33. What did you want and get?
Can't think of anything that I wanted really badly apart from a writing contract, and that comes under...
34. What did you want and not get?
A writing contract.
35. What was your favourite film this year?
Watchmen. Visually stunning.
36. What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
Well, not actually ON my birthday, but shortly before, Nikki treated me to a spa day at a nearby hotel complex. It were fab. I don't think I've ever been so relaxed. This year wasn't a milestone of any kind. Unless 53 has some special meaning somewhere in the world. Comments from numerologists welcome!
37. What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?
Persuading that New York agent that my novel really is the one they've been looking for.
38. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
39. What kept you sane?
The people close to me. Jointly and severally, they're wonderful.
40. Which celebrity did you fancy the most?
Er... Cheryl Cole. Sorry.
41. Which political issue stirred you the most?
The expenses scandal. I could spit vitriol about that for hours. Not only the fact of it, but their entire ATTITUDE to it.
42. Who did you miss?
Anyone who's not here. Duh.
43. Did you treat somebody badly in 2009
Probably didn't see as much of my Mum as I should.
44. Did somebody treat you badly in 2009?
Well there was that guy who cut me up on the M60...
45. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned this year?
Don't do today what you can put off until tomorrow. Play Spider Solitaire instead (q.v.).
46. What would you like to have in 2010 that you didn't have in 2009?
Sorry to, you know, repeat myself, but a writing contract would be nice.
47. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year...
Too many. And it's present opening time, so I must dash!
Monday, December 07, 2009
That kid
He would have been the nerdy kid at school. The one with the National Health specs held together with Elastoplast and the clothes that didn't quite fit him, spending playtime with his head buried in one of the Ladybird books from the top class, even though he was still a first-year. Walking around with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets and his mind stuffed just as deep into his thoughts, which were of problems so esoteric for an eight-year-old that none of his contemporaries would have made it past the first sentence, even if he could have put them into words.
In years to come he would gravitate to a group of like-minded individuals, occupying the corner table in the library and sharing no more than a few words of conversation. Preferring to point at passages from hefty pictureless tomes with a knowing grin that passed around his contemporaries faster than a headcold in the PE classes he was always trying to duck. But at age eight, in a small suburban junior school, there were no like-minded peers. The jousting they dreamed of wasn't mental. It might be contemporary - five a side in the playground when he'd be the last one chosen - or historical - an ad-hoc re-enactment of King Arthur's clash with the Green Knight, when he'd be cast as the wizard and condemned to stand alone in the bike sheds pretending to assemble potions from left-over school milk, playground moss and berries from the tree that hung over from Mrs Washowska's garden - but it was totally physical and hence by definition excluded him.
And today, when you see him walking along the balcony and heading down the stairs to lunch, the deep-rooted echoes of the nerdy kid remain. The intervening years have covered him with the shell of an adult - taller, greyer, wearier. But his hands are still stuffed into his pockets. He still gazes unseeing at the floor as his mind grapples with a thorny, high-concept design problem, the latest in a lifetime of arcane solutions that still leave his contemporaries floundering. His gait is the shuffling near-skip of the man who, having always played the wizard or the goalie, never quite gained total control over his physical self. His clothes still don't fit properly. If you knew him back then, you would recognise him now. And knowing him now, you can still see him as he was then.
In years to come he would gravitate to a group of like-minded individuals, occupying the corner table in the library and sharing no more than a few words of conversation. Preferring to point at passages from hefty pictureless tomes with a knowing grin that passed around his contemporaries faster than a headcold in the PE classes he was always trying to duck. But at age eight, in a small suburban junior school, there were no like-minded peers. The jousting they dreamed of wasn't mental. It might be contemporary - five a side in the playground when he'd be the last one chosen - or historical - an ad-hoc re-enactment of King Arthur's clash with the Green Knight, when he'd be cast as the wizard and condemned to stand alone in the bike sheds pretending to assemble potions from left-over school milk, playground moss and berries from the tree that hung over from Mrs Washowska's garden - but it was totally physical and hence by definition excluded him.
And today, when you see him walking along the balcony and heading down the stairs to lunch, the deep-rooted echoes of the nerdy kid remain. The intervening years have covered him with the shell of an adult - taller, greyer, wearier. But his hands are still stuffed into his pockets. He still gazes unseeing at the floor as his mind grapples with a thorny, high-concept design problem, the latest in a lifetime of arcane solutions that still leave his contemporaries floundering. His gait is the shuffling near-skip of the man who, having always played the wizard or the goalie, never quite gained total control over his physical self. His clothes still don't fit properly. If you knew him back then, you would recognise him now. And knowing him now, you can still see him as he was then.
Monday, November 09, 2009
First frost
One of my annual checkpoints occurred this morning. The first day on which I'm forced to scrape the ice off the car before I can drive off. We've had an unseasonably mild November so far, but that's all over now. Now all we have to look forward to is three months or so of scraping, and waiting for the blower to clear the windscreen. Or driving off too soon, and bending almost double behind the steering wheel to peer blearily through the thin sliver of glass that's not opaqued by the dust and engine gases that belch out from the demister vents and mingle with passenger breath to create an immovable oily film.
I could clean the windows I suppose, which would make the demister marginally more efficient, but I've never got on well with car cleaning. Something for which the word "nugatory" was invented, if you ask me.
I could clean the windows I suppose, which would make the demister marginally more efficient, but I've never got on well with car cleaning. Something for which the word "nugatory" was invented, if you ask me.
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