March 2004 Archives

Yesterday was another late evening, and another leaving party. It was a bit of a watershed, since it was the first time ex-employees outnumbered the, how shall I put this...remnants of the development team (and by a two to one margin at that). The event, such as it was, was held in Richmond, in a restaurant called Giraffe. It's part of a small chain, though I recall hearing that it's one the verge of being bought out by Pizza Express, so it may yet become a significantly larger chain. It's worth keeping an eye out for - pleasantly informal surrounds with a natty ethnic vibe, a varied selection of delectable dishes at reasonable prices and, most important of all, killer desserts. Perhaps not up there with the Scandanavian Iced Berries in a Hot White Chocolate Sauce (hold that thought for a moment - Mmmnnn), but Giraffe's white chocolate cheesecake laced throughout with toblerone fragments and ably assisted by a smattering of a devilishly rich chocolate sauce is certainly worthy of your consideration. Calories enough to fell a grown bull elephant in every mouthful. Just as it should be.

I mention this, since my late arrival back meant that I curtailed last nights entry before I delved in the little mutiny that's been going on in the comments of this entry. Now rAdam, Kevin - I hope you're both thoroughly ashamed of yourselves, trying to corrupt poor innocent Blog in my absence. I readily accept that Blog probably needs a little more exposure to ideas outwith my own (lest our relationship become too incestuous), but I chide you both for attempting to foment such dissent.

However I am willing to overlook the past few days foibles: since Kevin seems content to let his own blog wither and die (poor thing), and rAdam remains disinclined to start one of his own (go on, you know you want to), I'll make this offer to you, and anyone else who happens by. Should future absences force me to leave Blog unattended again for any length of time, I'll temporarily cede my position as benign and benevolent blogmaster to anyone who cares to take up the mantle. Guest bloggers if you will. I may have to set a few basic ground rules (no wild parties, no posting after midnight, no leaving Blog unchaperoned in the company of other blogs etc), but I'm prepared to be flexible and give you some latitude.

After all, if something is worth doing, you may as well do it properly.

All families are mad. Every mother, father, sister, brother, second cousin thrice removed knows this (though I suspect mothers are most acutely aware). My family congregated once more this past weekend in celebration of my Mum's birthday. It was a fair sized gathering, as I have numerous siblings. Given that we're adults now, all of us, you might have expected the affair to proceed with a modicum of decorum or dignity. Or failing that, plain old common sense.

Instead we ended up having a family photograph taken of us all perched atop the garage roof. That included myself, two sisters, three brothers, and one small niece terribly amused at these peculiar ongoings. I may have intimated earlier that my siblings and I are now well into our adulthoods. There's truth to this, but it's also true to say that when we're all together again (a rarer occurrence than I'd like, but given I'm the primary culprit living some 400 miles away from the rest of my erstwhile kin I'm hardly in a position to complain) we somehow manage to adopt behavioural habits more commonly associated with an average six year old.

I'd like to point out that I was not the primary instigator of this rooftop migration. That honour fell to my younger brother, Nicky, who'd been out in the garden earlier playing with his poi . The lure of the poi proved great enough to tempt my remaining brothers outside. Much poi based hilarity ensued. But even flaming poi (ooh fire) can only amuse for so long, and other mischiefs soon took hold - such as attempting to jump up to grab hold of the edge of the garage roof, then pulling yourself up. We're all lemmings are heart, my siblings and I - where one goes the others are bound to follow. One brother sat atop the roof. Then two. Then three. A sister followed. Two sisters. A niece. Believe it or not, I came last, either because I was determined to retain my dignity as long as possible, or because I was barefoot at the time which slowed my climbing efforts a little (favour the latter).

All families are mad. Everyone knows this to be true, whilst at the same secretly harbouring the suspicion that perhaps theirs are normal after all.

My family is mad. There are photographs to prove it.

Well I after pondering the question for a goodly while, I finally worked out what to get my Mum for her birthday: Me! I'm taking a couple of days off work to head back to Edinburgh for a slightly extended visit (I'll be back Monday evening). Yes, it is a bit of a cop out, and yes, it does feel a little like cheating, but on the other hand it meets my criteria for presents by being both personal, and something that no other person would (or in this case could) give her. Perhaps not ideal, but at least I'm certain she'll like it.

I'd ask you to keep Blog company in my absence again but truth be told, it's reached that awkward stage where it would rather go off and sulk on it's own (I think Blog is a little embarrassed about having me around). I'm sure it's just a passing phase though. How quickly they grow...

It turns out that my plot to direct myself onto a more interesting project at work isn't going to avail me at all. Priorities have been rearranged following the latest resignation so it means that I'm unlikely to get the chance to do what I want. Ever. It's now fallen extremely far down the priority list. Probably right off it in fact.

Bother.

On a marginally brighter note, it also means that I shan't be moving on to what I'd mentally categorised as the "project of Doom", since that's also been mercilessly deprioritised (and good riddance to it!) Hmm, deprioritisation sounds suspiciously euphemistic: "The projects not dead, merely deprioritised," or "Your role hasn't been made redundant, it's just been deprioritised." or "We used to care about you, before you were deprioritised". Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the raincloud adhering to this silver lining is that I'm not entirely sure what I'll be doing instead. One particular possibility that's looming disturbingly large would be far worse than anything I'd imagined previously. It's not that it's unpleasant work in and of itself, it's just something that I have no interest in whatsoever. Even at the best of times, I don't work as well as I'm able if I don't care about what I'm doing. With my current levels of motivation, however, it would be sheer torture. I've tried to make my feelings about the project known by looking painfully unhappy every time my name has been mentioned in conjunction with it (I even attempted a scowl at one point, but I don't think I pulled it off particularly well), but I'm not sure what's going to happen. If worst comes to worst I will simply threaten to offer my resignation.

In fact, I may not even threaten, I may just do it...

Today was the sort of day when the weather just couldn't make up it's mind. It fluxed from a bright and sunny morning into a brief spot of near torrential rain, before brightening up into a blue cloudless sky almost immediately afterwards. It repeated this pattern several times throughout the day, each time trying out a slightly different variation, for example, substituting the rain with hail. The weather report indicated we were due for thunderstorms at any moment, but these failed to materialise. Nevertheless, I think we managed to squeeze enough varieties of weather into a single day to make up for my disappointment.

This morning I got to interview a couple of people for a job that opened up after one of my friends resigned. I'd only ever sat in on one interview a few years ago, so it was still a strange and novel experience for me. In the first instance, I think I coped well enough. My task was made easier by the fact that the candidate was well qualified for the position and knew answers to all the technical questions I asked of her. She was polite, knowledgeable and personable and is probably the kind of person interviewers hope to meet (by contrast one of the other people never made it past the earlier round after creeping out my manager who first interviewed him. His initial assessment was "potential serial killer")

The second interview I did less well in. This candidate wasn't quite as prepared or knowledgeable, and one question I asked her threw her a little. Unfortunately, rather than admit she didn't know the answer - which I would have had no problem with - she rambled on at length about something only tangentially related. It was only after she stopped talking that I realised I didn't know what to say to her. Is the correct thing to do to point out her error, or to ignore it and move swiftly onwards? With hindsight, I should have just moved the conversation on to something else, but instead I sat there in silence for moment, trying to work out what to do or say next. The room fell quiet, with nothing but the pattering of rain outside staving off complete silence.

And then the rain stopped.

The absolute stillness that ensued fortunately only lasted a moment before I realised how ridiculous the whole situation was and laughed. The rapidly mounting tension in the room faded in an instant and we managed to continue on with the interview without further incident or awkward pauses.

I discovered today that when it comes to being an interviewer, as with much in life, I still have a lot to learn. I am happy to pick things up as I go along, but I do hope I don't cause too much harm in the interim.

A couple of years ago a group of us started playing computer games after work, just a single evening a week usually. Mostly we stuck to a game called Unreal Tournament, where the basic idea, as with so many of these games, is to run around in various mazes and shoot each other with guns. Lots of guns. I don't think of myself as a violent person - really, I'm not. But I am extremely competitive, to a degree I think most people would find surprising. It's not one of my more charming personality traits. Anyway, we didn't play for more than a few of months before a shift in offices and the application of a slightly harsher management regime put an end to our game playing. Last week, however, someone suggested starting it up again, and tonight Geno and I (the sole remains of our original group) took the first step by breaking out the installation disk and launching into a round (or several) of UT.

Geno is very good at these sort of games. Absurdly good. When I first played against him, I was embarrassed at how quickly he beat me. To call it an outright massacre would be to overstate my success - it wasn't a pretty sight. My pride was salvaged only by the fact that Geno rode roughshod over everyone. But I kept at it. I don't take much joy in losing consistently at anything, but at least I can take pride in improving. I'm pretty good with computer games in general and over the course of time I did get better, perhaps even to the point where I could stand toe to toe against Geno. I could certainly run rings around most of the rest of the group... which I may have taken some pleasure in doing. The problem with being so competitive is that I tend to make quite a bad winner. Even if I don't actively gloat, I can still barely disguise my inner smirk. In short I'm exactly the sort of person I find irritating in these situations.

Of course that was all a couple of years ago now, and given that I hadn't really played the game since then, I was slightly worried I'd be out of practice. But earlier tonight it all came flooding back to me - it was just like old times again. The atmospheric tension within the game, the rush of adrenalin as you hunt around the level searching for your prey, the getting pounded into a gooey mess by Geno within seconds of entering a new level.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Ah yes, just like old times indeed.

There are some acts that I simply cannot countenance. Wanton violence and mindless destruction, for instance, or those which inflict harm on others. There are a whole heap of crimes against humanity that I could list here, but shan't. But then there are those which fall into that well defined moral grey area. Say, for example, blackmail. Now in general I consider blackmail to be a bad thing. Unless of course I can use it to my own advantage...

There's a scene in "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?", that I'm sure you all remember, but which I'm going to recount for you anyway. It occurs when Roger and Eddie are trying to extricate themselves from the pair of handcuffs currently binding them together. Eddie tries to get Roger out of the way whilst he is sawing away, and in order to appease him, Roger slips out of the handcuffs and stands aside. Once Eddie realises what has happened, he ask Roger if he could have taken his hand out of the cuffs at any time. Rogers response is: "No! Not at any time. Only when it was funny!"

My principles, such as they are, run in a similar vein, especially when it comes to moral grey areas. In general, I won't (can't?) break any rules, and as point of fact I'll generally go out of my way to uphold them. It's just the way my personality seems to be built. Usually it manifests itself in benign but irritating ways - I'll always be the one watching the time when we're at lunch, for example, making sure we arrive back at the office on time. I just tend to follow rules. Unless of course, I can find good, solid, iron clad justification otherwise. Take my current situation at work. I'm resolved to leave there by mid to late summer. That much I've decided already. Now I know already what I'm likely to be assigned to for much if not all of that time. It's not very exciting work, in fact it's work I'd much rather avoid doing, but like I say, it's in my nature to follow the rules.

Although...

There is another project. When I started my current job, there were a lot of things I personally identified as being just plain wrong. And over the course of the last three years, I've had the opportunity to correct most of them. What pride I take in my work largely stems from that. In fact, out of all the things I've wanted to achieve, only one now remains outstanding, but with the way things are looking it's unlikely I'll ever get the chance to complete it. It's work that will be done at some point in the future, just not right now - and in my arrogance I know that if I don't do it, it won't get done properly. Or at least not as well as I'd do it (and I believe that hand on heart). This is where notion of blackmail comes into play. What if I were to threaten to resign?

I can justify this on the grounds that it's not a hollow threat. I really don't want to spend the next several months working on a project that I don't care for, and I genuinely believe the benefits to the company that derive from it will be of dubious worth. The idea of resigning recently has become increasingly tempting (not just for me, we're losing another developer next week. Down to four now), and one of the few things that would get me to stay would be to work on something more interesting. Plus there's the fact that I can see the benefits of the work I want to do - not in monetary terms (which doesn't help my case), but in terms of making life a heck of a lot easier for the people who currently use our products. All of this I can cite as moral justification for my scheme.

So I wonder if I can strike a bargain? Let me do the work I want to (work that still has to be done at some point), and I'll stay until it's complete, or else face losing me earlier. I don't believe for an moment that I'm irreplaceable, which hampers my bargaining position a little, but then given that there are only four developers remaining, we're probably all as near to being irreplaceable as it's possible get.

Oh well. It's idle speculation for the moment. Despite my fondness for the idea, it still doesn't sit completely at ease with me, so I don't think I'll be acting on it, tempting though it is.

However, I reserve the right to revisit my earlier thoughts should desperation set in...

So it's Christopher Eccleston. All that speculation, and I don't believe I once saw his name mentioned in connection with the role. Given that he's already collaborated with Russell T Davies before on The Second Coming (probably the last thing I actually watched on ITV - a remarkably good drama), he should probably have been one the more obvious candidates. That he wasn't I take that as an indication that he's a slightly left of field choice - certainly he's not someone I would have picked for the part (though that's probably a good thing).

Still, I'm only viewing the whole affair with mild curiosity. Perhaps I'm simply jaded about such things now. Once upon a not so long ago, I would have been paying avid attention to details about the new series, whereas now I find myself a little more reserved. I enjoyed watching Doctor Who as a kid and I do hope the forthcoming series can breath new life into the character, but even if it fails, well, I still enjoyed watching Doctor Who as a kid. That's enough for me now - I'm content to let the past rest. What was good was good, and if can be good again, so much the better - but to some degree I'd rather see peoples energies being channelled into creating something entirely new.

Not that I'll let that stop me from watching the new series of course...

It's my mothers birthday next week. She's notoriously difficult to choose presents for, since she has virtually everything she needs and has little fondness for excess or frippery. Last year my various siblings and I combined our resources to get a digital camera (an Ixus) which not only was much appreciated, but also simplified the whole present buying process greatly.

This year we've left each other to our own devices again, which means that I'll need to find something suitable on my own. I usually put a lot of effort into choosing the right presents for people, but every year I struggle when it comes to my mother. We're always slightly at odds, she and I, about such matters. In my mind she's a resolutely practical woman, not easily given to flights of fancy. Oh, we share a lot of common ground, as all family members must to some degree, but our world views differ quite radically. As a result, I'm never entirely sure what she'd like. She has the same problem when it comes to me too, of course, so there's an odd sort of karma at play.

I may yet take the cowards way out, and simply ask her what I should get - but only as a last resort. I've said before, I like surprises, both being surprised and surprising others. To give someone a gift they were expecting just doesn't feel right to me. But then it's better than the alternative of giving something that's unwanted.

I should look on the bright side - even if I get it wrong this time, there's always Christmas to make up for it...

Listen closely would be spammers everywhere. I have a simple message for you, so please pay attention: Leave me be. Leave Blog be.

I'm perfectly happy with my anatomy. I'm equally happy with my hairline. I don't get headaches and have no need for painkillers. As far as I'm aware I'm also unlikely to keel over from a heart attack any time soon. Really, I have no requirement for any pharmacutical wares of any description. And I have painfully little interest in any of the dubious adult websites you publicise with ever increasing alacrity.

In short, I neither care for, nor desire, nor have any use for any of the myriad products which you seem intent on corrupting poor Blog to advertise. Neither does my small but perfectly formed readership. It's not why we're here. It's not why any of us are here.

Now go. Take your attempt to climb up google's page ranking mechanism elsewhere and leave me alone.

Leave us all alone.

People have flavours.

Like chocolate or vanilla or strawberry or... erm, no, that's not what I meant. Rather I mean to say that events are coloured by the company in which you experience them. Yesterday She Who Must Not Be Named and I covered a lot of the same ground around London that I dragged Matthew and Kevin through a few weeks back. Not all the same ground though, since we tried for depth rather than quite so much breadth this time, but even so, it still became something of a race to see the few things on our agenda (future visitors please note: if you want to see London I recommend that you try and take more than a single day in which to do it!). Though I'd seen it all before, it was a wholly different experience seeing it through the eyes of She Who Must Not Be Named. And just as good :)

Anyway, I promised details about dinner.

I first passed by the Ivy many years back, without even realising what it was (it's located only a short walk away from Forbidden Planet, hence my familiarity with the area), or giving much thought to it, aside from admiring the lovely art deco clock on the building and perhaps wondering what lay behind the frosted windows (frosted windows always pique my curiosity). At the time I couldn't have even named a single restaurant in the city. Years later, by a process resembling some strange form of osmosis, I now have a pretty good idea where the "in" places to eat are (I just don't eat there). And topping that list is the Ivy. As far as I know, the Ivy appears to be something of an institution. It doesn't have a reputation for the most inventive food, or a cutting edge decor or atmosphere, but it's nevertheless comes top or near enough most of the lists of the favoured places to eat in London. As I said, I wanted to experience it before I leave here.

And it was certainly an interesting experience. Firstly I can't recall a restaurant in which the staff seemed quite so delighted to have me there. It verged on obsequiousness, which was slightly uncomfortable at first, although it's remarkable (as well as a little disturbing) how quickly you adapt. The decor was pleasantly intimate - understated rather than ostentatious - with the frosted windows lending it a strange otherworldly air. And spotted at least one noteworthy thespian dining a few tables away.

The quality of the food was unsurprisingly very good. Between She Who Must Not Be Named and myself, we had pumpkin soup, a Caesar salad, pan fried gnocci and deep fried haddock and chips with a particularly fine tartar sauce (you could pluck out the capers if you wished). All of this was uniformly excellent. But then came dessert. And here I made a terrible, terrible mistake. And error of judgement that dismays me even now and which will continue to haunt me in the days to come. Alas, you see, I ordered the chocolate souffle, a dish which in other circumstances would have pleased me greatly and which was indeed quite delightful. But She Who Must Not Be Named ordered Scandinavian iced berries with a hot white chocolate sauce - a dish mine own eyes had rested upon before the lure of chocolate tempted them away. Superlatives fail me here. It was, let me say, divine. A small slice of heaven presented on a plate. Angels would weep in its presence. I looked on enviously, now disconsolate with my chocolate souffle. Fortunately She Who Must Not Be Named, succumbed to my wide eyed stare (or perhaps simply took pity upon me) and allowed me to share her berries. If, perchance, in the future you should happen to find yourself seated at table in the Ivy, perusing the dessert menu, unsure of which tempting dish to choose, let me lay to rest your uncertainty: order the berries. Weeping angels, remember?

She Who Must Not Be Named and I both decided we could get used to dining there and at the same time realised we may never get the opportunity again.

There aren't many things left that I want to do before I leave London. Maybe a few areas I've never ventured into that could be worth a wander round, maybe a few galleries or museums or exhibits that I've only glanced at. On the whole though, I'm content that I've not missed anything of great import or interest. But a do have a small list remaining, containing just a few things left to do. Such as eating out at one of classic London restaurants, like The Ivy. I've wanted to do something like that for a while, but have generally lacked a reason to do so. What I really needed was an occasion such as a dear old friend coming to visit.

Well, today I had dear old friend over to visit. Since she politely requested not to be named here, I'm going to cull her enmity by hereforth referring to her as She Who Must Not Be Named. We spent a very pleasant day together, before heading off to have dinner at The Ivy. And it was... well, I'm going to save that, and the rest of the days adventures until tomorrow, since I only managed a few winks sleep last night and I really, really need a good nights rest.

Besides, you should always leave them wanting more.

I'm developing a serious distaste for Gatwick airport. Bad enough the past misfortunes to have befallen me there, but today I discovered the laughable UK arrivals lounge. And I do mean discovered - I had to hunt for it. I followed various signs around looking for it, until I found myself back where I started - never a good sign. Retracing my steps, I eventually found what I was looking for. It's a door marked as a entrance to Continental's waiting area, with a couple of seats set up in front. And that's it. My problems with the waiting area (they didn't actually call it a lounge, I was just being sarcastic earlier) are threefold:

a) It's badly signposted.
b) It's marked as being something else entirely.
c) There are no information screens nearby.

The third point was the most frustrating, especially since the flight I was waiting on had been delayed and the only way to find out what was going on was to wander half way down the terminal. It's an inexcusably poor setup, and extremely frustrating for the people waiting there.

If you haven't already gathered, my mood is a little tetchy since the delayed flight well and truly scuppered the journey home. What should have been a relatively straightforward trip was transmogrified into a trek across London involving trains, taxis and buses which finally led to our arrival back here approximately 2 hours later than I'd originally estimated. Consequently, it's rather late.

I should really get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be another busy day...

Yes, I know I said I'd do something today to make up for yesterdays general absence of somethings but the inclement weather intervened forcing me to alter my plans somewhat: I tided and cleaned instead. Constructive? Yes. Exciting? No.

I'd planned on doing some cleaning this weekend anyway, since one of my best friends is coming to visit for a couple of days, starting tomorrow evening. What I hadn't counted on was Kim's (my flatmate) mother also coming to visit this weekend. Kim's mother is perfectly friendly and polite, and, for reasons I don't understand, utterly terrifying. She arrives every once in a while and cleans the house from top to bottom in a display of furious energy which is frightening to behold. I'm embarrassed to admit that I generally stay well out her way whilst this process is going on - I honestly feel like I'd only get in the way, contrary to my usual instinct to pitch in and help. So instead I cleaned and tidied my own room which I will confess was in a slight state of disarray (notice my clever use of understatement).

One good thing came of all this when I finally decided that I'd had enough of my infuriating tv aerial. When I first moved here I spent a good deal of time waving the aerial in the air in an attempt to find a place for it where it might pick up all channels. It was a surprisingly difficult process. One particular spot might receive BBC1 & 2. Move down a foot and six inches to the right to get channel four. Keep it there and move one of the extending prongs parallel to the first to get BBC3 & 4. Channel 5 seemed to live in it's own little corner of the world by the window, and I gave up caring about ITV a long time ago. Trial and error prevailed in the end and I eventually found the precise location where all channels would come through clearly - in very nearly the exact center of the room at approximately head height. The ensuing arrangement of furniture to accommodate this was awkward to say the least. But today I finally snapped. I rushed out to Maplins to purchase a new battery powered aerial. I've always been suspicious of these devices, but by golly it worked. The aerial is now tucked out of sight on the window ledge behind a curtain and my furniture is placed in a pattern that doesn't make me appear to be a crazy person..

And one of my bestest friends is coming to visit tomorrow. I'm happy.

I did nothing noteworthy today. I've been sitting here, thinking about the events of the day, trying to tease out a single happening worthy of encapsulating into an amusing or interesting anecdote and I've been coming up blank (well, aside from the incident with the hairdresser who didn't speak english and who, having misunderstood what I was asking for, came within a hairs breadth - pun intended - of shaving my entire head. I'm just glad I was paying attention when she started on me with the electric razor. It was a close shave. Boom, boom.). It seems an awful waste, to have so little to show for a whole day. If I'd known that when I woke up this morning I would have set out with object of achieving something, but instead I let the day slip away.

It's a shame because, with hindsight, it was rather a lovely day. The sky was mostly blue, the sun - a rare sight recently - mostly shone and the temperature was passably warm too, at least enough to make me feel slightly overdressed (the scarf will have to go). It was a good day to do something and I didn't.

I shall simply have to make up for it tomorrow.

I don't understand hostility. Perhaps because I'm not a hostile person, it just seems to be lost on me. I'm perfectly capable of unfettered antagonism when the need arises, but at least I'm polite about it.

I've been making substantial changes to one of our core tools at work. Our user base is small but vocal and I'll freely admit that in general they're not treated with the respect they deserve. Consequently we seem to be locked into an unfriendly "them and us" scenario which, if not outright destructive, is certainly less than fruitful. As I've been discovering first hand. Such is the sweeping nature of what I'm doing that I decided we should consult the users before dropping it in their laps. So a small group of users were given access to our test system in order that they could look at what's coming and offer feedback. I think it's here I made the mistake. I assumed that soliciting for feedback automatically implied that the nature of the feedback should be, well, constructive. Unfortunately I was rewarded with great steaming heaps of hostility.

Fortunately I didn't take it personally. I would have once, but I know I'm doing a good job here - I've enjoyed this project more than anything I've done in a good couple of months and I've put a lot of myself into it. I'm not expecting to be feted by any of our users - what's being done is being done out of necessity, and I know it's not going to be to their liking for the most part, but I'm still intent on making their lives as painless as possible, regardless of whether they appreciate it or not.

Now normally I'm content to sit behind the scenes and let others play at diplomatic relations, but I decided to step in at this point. I should probably clarify that most of the users when venting their grievances did actually raise specific issues. They may not have done it terribly politely, but at least they gave me something to work with. I responded to every single one of their points. Where it was feasible to make improvements I made them. Where it wasn't I carefully explained why. Basically I bent over backwards to do the right thing and to make sure they understood the reasons behind why I was doing what I was doing. Oh, the mood amongst them was still fairly tepid and somewhat distrustful, but at least they understood I was on their side.

Except for one user. Rather bizarrely he took great exception to what was being proposed, said it was "rubbish" amongst some other choice terms, (without giving any specific information as to what he felt was wrong) and then copied every single person he knew of in the company in his reply, including a variety of people higher up the corporate foodchain than I, to let them know what a bad job he thought everyone was doing. It was a spectacularly unproductive act, verging, in my opinion, on sheer malice.

It was quickly dismissed by everyone, but it still upset me. Not because he was venting at me (which he was, and publicly too), but because he wasted the opportunity. I personally find it hard enough to effect positive change on any real level that I find it infuriating when others are presented with the chance and squander it. It would have taken so little effort on his part to list his specific grievances, but instead all I got was invective. Even when I politely requested some more information nothing useful was forthcoming.

I don't understand this person. I don't understand people who hold to such attitudes and I don't want to have to deal with them.

Are there many of them out there?

I looked up as I was walking home tonight. My mind was elsewhere at the time and I wasn't really concentrating on what I was seeing, but I did notice the falling rain drifting idly on a slight breeze, illuminated by the pale yellow glare of a streetlight. The movement of the rain caught my eye, since it was pleasingly chaotic, and it occurred to some part of me that the rain appeared to be falling unusually slowly. But my attention wasn't held long and the image strayed out of my thoughts as stealthily as it had crept into them. I carried on walking through the rain.

It wasn't until a few minutes later I realised it was freezing cold and that I'd been walking through snow.

I'm feeling a pressing need to send someone a gift. I just haven't decided who or what yet.

One running joke amongst my family from years back was that I didn't possess much in the way of plain old common sense. Though I was loath to admit it at the time, there's likely some truth to it, even now. However, I do believe I've been favoured with enough extraneous senses to compensate for those I lack. For instance, I like to think of myself as having an extremely finely honed sense of karma.

Already this week I've received an unexpected gift in the post, much to my great delight, and I've also been warned that an unspecified something else is winding itself towards me. Happenings like these bring me a great sense of happiness, which I consequently feel the need to spread. It's only fair after all. I've already sent out one gift in the past few days, but my karmic scales still feel slightly out of balance, so I've decided to pick upon some other soul out there to bequeath a gift upon. The only question is who to pick on...

Oh, good grief. I completely forgot to send a thank you gift that I'd intended a couple of weeks back. D'oh. That explains the karmic imbalance then. Still better late than never I suppose. There. It's done, thanks to the joys of online shopping. Alas, it's for people who don't number amongst my readership. So the rest of you are spared...

This time.

Speaking of chocolate (which I wasn't, but given that's what I just sent out I may as well - I know it's not the most inspired of gifts, but it's apt for this occasion I promise), someone brought in a box of Quality Street chocolates to work the other day to share. When came my turn I reached in and at random pulled out a blue foil wrapped chocolate that a quick consultation of the supplied index card indicated to be a coconut eclair. For those of you unaware of the grand British tradition that is Quality Street, or indeed it's main rival Roses, these are boxes containing a variety of chocolates about 10% of which nobody actually likes, such as the aforementioned coconut eclair or it's counterpart in crime, the dreaded coffee cream. However, as I perused further I discovered that, no, it was not a coconut eclair, but was rather an infinitely more edible hazelnut eclair. However, their wrappings were undeniably similar in style and colour.

Naturally I began to theorise that these particular chocolates were emulating the survival stratagem often seen in nature where an animal, insect or bird that would otherwise make a tempting morsel for a predator evolves to mimic the appearance of another more fearsome/less edible creature. It's obvious when you think about it. Strangely, no-one else seem to take my theory seriously.

But I'll show them!

Many moons ago I received a questionnaire from rAdam (the linkless). In a herculean bout of procrastination I've managed to delay and delay and delay before finally providing you with the answers that I know you've been salivating for (hmm, eight months of salivation. That's an awful lot of saliva. Best not to think about it). Read on for enlightenment illumination edification my usual ramblings...

I hereby declare today the first day of Spring. I don't have much truck with calendars in general, but even less so when it comes to the seasons. Summer is when it's hot. Autumn is when it's orange and ochre and gold, Winter is when it's dark, and Spring is when it's not dark anymore. And it's not dark anymore - I got up this morning in daylight and today I left work at 5:thirty, also in daylight (even if it was only the last vestiges). Ergo, it's Spring. And I'm happy (and not just because I got to use the word "ergo", which always brings a smile to my face).

Partly I'm particularly happy because I've been spending a lot of time recently trying to answer a questionnaire that rAdam (another of the blogless, so no link to him either), sent me about seven or eight months ago. Contrary to what he may have thought, I haven't forgotten about it, I simply keep starting on it, getting stuck on one particular question and putting it down again. I've done this a lot (a lot), but I believe I've answered the question that's been vexing me so, so I'm going to finish off the rest of it. I'll probably post it up here once I'm done. As I've mentioned before I have a tendancy to let things weigh upon me when there's often no need, and it feels good to clear something else off my list (I've even notified the bank of where I live at last).

If I keep this up I may even end up being organised...

I know I've been piling on the angst this week, and I was about to start adding some more to the heap... until I realised just how depressing it's all been. Believe it or not, I'm not as unhappy and I've probably been making myself out to be these past few days. Oh, I am still trying to work out what to do with my life, but that doesn't have to be a miserable process, even though I've cast it in that light.

There are endless possibilities before me (before all of us, when you stop and think about it). And yes, whilst I find it hard to deal with so many options, the simple fact is that it's infinitely better than having too few. I'm a reasonably capable fellow (more so that I will often give myself credit for), and I can turn my hand to a great many different tasks and succeed well enough. I've done so in the past and for once I have a modicum of confidence that I can do so again. Narrowing it down to something that I'll enjoy and find fulfilling is a little harder, but by no means impossible to achieve. There are jobs out there that I do consider "dream jobs" (and no, I'm not going to tell you what they are, before you ask). I may be hopelessly underqualified for a great many of them, but others... others I may not. I think the chance to succeed outweighs the risk of rejection.

Anyway, work is only one aspect of life and, though it may loom particularly large just now, it's not the most important. If the only thing I accomplish in life is getting the perfect job I'll have failed. If the only thing I accomplish in life is to keep the friends I have and build more friendships (relationships?) that are anywhere near as strong... well, that's a better measure of success in my book.

I hate it when information gets into my head when I'm not certain of its source - for instance, when someone asks me a question and I start to answer "I don't know," only to realise that, wait, I do know. I don't know how I know, but I know. We're bombarded with so much information these day, in so many different forms, that I suppose it's almost inevitable the sources don't always stick. I do find it a little disconcerting though.

I think I had a conversation with someone recently, about their plans for the weekend. They were going to do some shopping, get a newspaper, go the gym, read the newspaper, work out at the gym and then go home to vegetate in front of the tv. At least I think I had that conversation. I'm not entirely sure - this morning I couldn't rule out that it might have been something I'd read online, or in a newspaper, or picked up from somewhere else. Regardless, today I went shopping, got a newspaper, went to the gym, read the newspaper, worked out at the gym, and then went home and vegged out in front of the tv for a while.

Now I'm wondering if I did have that conversation after all, but I was just remembering the wrong side of it...

Six months.

Blog and I have now been together for exactly six months. 180 posts (including this one) and some 288 comments (thank you for your contributions - I've appreciated them far more than I've ever said) later and I'm still here. And you're still here - I'll take that as evidence I'm doing something right. I'm trying to think right now how my attitude to all this has changed since I started blogging. Certainly the novelty has worn off now, but the simple act of blogging still seems to hold a lot of appeal for me. I believe a lot of that stems from the fact that it allows me to keep in touch with my friends, especially those far distant. I wasn't sure when I started writing this how many people I would ever show it to. I can't deny there's a power in writing anonymously, knowing you can freely express yourself without any recriminations, but more and more I want the opposite. I want to be able to express myself knowing that I can face the repercussions of my words and actions. To be able to live transparently without feeling the need to hide, to write without fearing who will read it. It's not something I've done particularly well with in the past, but I believe it's a noble goal (and haven't noble goals always appealed to me?), and perhaps more importantly I believe there's a strength to be found there - of particular importance to me, since my first instinct when confronted about anything is to find the nearest rock and clamber under it. I've been under that rock way too many times and it's not a pleasant place to be.

Will writing here help with that? I don't honestly know. I'm wary of pretty words, from myself and others, since they come too easily and mean too little. Judge me on my deeds I suppose. Although so far all I have to show are words...

But this day is not just about me. Happy Birthday Blog! You're six months old today, though I'm not sure what that is in blog years. I wasn't sure what to get for you, so I put together a new theme called "Wend". I hope you like it and that it fits you well.

I spent a goodly portion of today writing user documentation. It's something I've successfully managed to avoid doing in the past since the task usually got foisted off onto some other poor unfortunate soul. Alas, the someone elses are now long gone so it's down to me. Still, even though it's not a job I particularly relish, I don't despise it either.

What I quickly realised when Microsoft Word's grammar checker started churning through what I'd written was that I've got a nasty habit of falling into the passive voice. It made me realise just how little I know about writing. I did well at English at school, but I never learned much about the structure of the language itself, or how to best use it. Even today I'd struggle to tell you what an adverb is and certainly I don't know much about the pitfalls I no doubt fall into near every day. Neil Gaiman's advice for aspiring writers is the wondrously simple: "Just write". But how do you write well? And how do you improve if you don't appreciate the mistakes you've made? I supposed I'd best get people to critique what I've written, but that rather implies I should have something to critique. I'll need to do something about that.

In keeping with the theme this week, I'd like to think I can write well, but I know I can write better.

On Saturday I continued dragging Kevin around London. I'd squeezed as much as I possibly could into the previous day but I wasn't done by any means yet. Whilst chatting with Kevin on the Friday we'd discovered a mutual love of comics and as we were looking around Forbidden Planet we found that two illustrious personages of the comics world, writer Mark Millar and penciller Brian Hitch, were scheduled to give a signing the following afternoon, so we made plans to meet up then. After the signing, at which I upheld my past principles by resolutely refusing to get anything signed only to be foiled by Kevin who had something signed on my behalf, Kevin professed to have no plans for the rest of the day so I lapsed back into tour guide mode and set about hauling him around the city once more, westwards this time, along Oxford Street, through Hyde Park, past the Albert Memorial, around the Royal Albert Hall (still one of my favourite sights of the city, particularly when it's illuminated at night) and then down to the Natural History Museum and the V&A.

Venturing past the Natural History Museum was a particularly fortuitous decision. Last summer I'd passed by there late one evening to discover an exhibition of photographs in it's gardens. I stopped to have a look round. The photos were taken by Yann Arthus-Bertrand and the exhibition is called Earth from the Air. It was supposed to have closed at the tail end of last summer, which is why I was surprised to see it still open, but it's now been extended until the end of spring.

They're amazing pictures.

Taken over a period of 10 years and spread over 76 countries it's a incredible collection of aerial photographs the likes of which I'd never seen before - images of extraordinary beauty. Go see it if you have the chance - you won't regret it I promise. For my part I was glad to get the chance to show it to someone else.

It's also responsible yesterdays ponderings. Someone spent a decade of their life achieving something incredible. Once upon a time the idea of spending a decade doing anything would have been inconceivable. But it doesn't seem so long now. And to spend it doing something you love... there are worse fates aren't there? Oh, I'm not kidding myself. After all, I don't know what to do with myself.

But I'm thinking about it.

For all that I'm given to introspection (and I am, believe me), I've never been very good at analysing my feelings. It doesn't take much more than a simple "how do you feel?" to practically paralyze me as I furiously try to work out how I do feel. I mean, how do you know how you feel? It's easy with the extremes. When I'm either very happy or very unhappy I know it. But I'm not often given to extremes, though I do have my moments. For the most part though I find it difficult to say exactly. Simply answering "ok", or "I feel fine" just doesn't seem to do the question justice. But it's true for a lot of the time, when I feel neither up nor down, I just feel... ok.

It belies my aspirations really. I don't want everything to be mostly fine for most of the time, leading a largely unremarkable life interspersed with too rare peaks and troughs. I want everything to be wonderful all the time. Of course I share a mindset that says that's not possible. I don't want to, and perhaps one day I shan't, but for the moment I can't seem to escape the limitations of my own beliefs. Similar thoughts have occurred to me in the past, that this isn't really the life I want to be leading, but for reasons unfathomable to me I seem bound to persist with it. Or perhaps the reasons aren't so mysterious: It's nothing more than pure cowardice. Fear of change. Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure. Fear of actually putting myself in a position where I might actually challenge myself. Fear of this, fear of that - what I'm afraid of doesn't really matter so much as the fact that I let it keep me here.

I can program computers for the rest of my days. I know this. And there's presently a very real possibility that's how I might eek out my life. For the most part I enjoy it well enough, and I'm good at it - and if that forms a basis for measure it's not a bad existence. But as I've vented before, it's just seems inconsequential to me. Fifteen or so years ago, that I might feel this way didn't occur to me. I'd been reading Arthur Millers "Death of a Salesman" at school, and I just didn't understand why the titular character should have been so desperate to leave his mark on the world. It seemed laughably unimportant to me then. Less so now. In my case I don't particularly care about leaving my mark. I just want to know that I've done something positive with my life, because whatever my beliefs may be I know that the only person who will sit in judgement of my life is me. And on this matter I'm a harsh judge. Too harsh. I know various people around here will be tempted to leap in a defend me (or a least tell me what an idiot I am :) Please understand that I know I've done some positive things with my life - befriending most of you for a start - but I still can't help but hold myself to ideals I can never hope to achieve. It's in my nature to believe in perfection however unobtainable it may in reality be. I know that now matter what I might do, it will always be possible to do better. It's not a healthy viewpoint, I know, but I can't not believe it - it's who I am.

So no matter what I may do with my life, I'll probably never be satisfied with it. Not a conclusion I expected to come to when I started writing this.

How do I feel?

I don't know.

One slightly surprising consequence of all the sightseeing I've done this past weekend is that I've come to appreciate just how utterly familiar London is to me now. Not all of it, true - it's a vast sprawl of a city and even in all the years I've been here I've only covered a fraction of it's area. But the parts I know I know well and that still encompasses a considerable chunk of the place.

Whilst I was showing the city off, I suddenly realised that I was with someone who was seeing all of this for the first time and it was something of a revelation, especially since there's much I simply don't remember encountering for the first time. That's not to say all my memories have turned plasticene-like into a brown sludgy goo - certain memories are emblazoned boldly, but a lot of them seem to have blurred around the edges and are no longer as distinct and vivid as I have the vague feeling they should be. Does this mean I've been here too long? Does this mean I'll miss it when it's gone? Or should that be when I'm gone? I don't know. Despite my usual protestations, I think that over the course of the weekend I've demonstrated quite conclusively that there is a lot to like about London. And perhaps even that I like it.

Maybe I will miss not being here...