November 2004 Archives

My phone doesn't work. It's an old cordless phone I've had for about six years and I suspect it's batteries are kaput.

I do still have my mobile, but I tend to use it only when necessary since it has a tendency to eat pennies at an alarming rate, particularly when calling abroad. I'm planning on picking up a cheap replacement at the weekend, so bear with me until then. If you haven't heard from me for a little while now, that's likely the reason (well, either that or I simply don't like you anymore - but it's more probably the former).

Today's lesson is this: Avoid Hertz. Not only did they manage get the time of the car rental wrong (they'd booked it for 1pm, despite my asking on the phone what time they opened in the morning because I wanted to get as early a start as possible), not only did they book me the wrong car (something suspiciously compact like, despite my asking for the largest car they had available because I had a considerable quantity of stuff to shift), not only did they not have a suitable replacement vehicle on their premise (resulting in a trek to another Hertz halfway across London), but to top it all off we were "served" by a Frenchman with an air of almost comical snootiness. I'm loath to resort to stereotypes of any persuasion, nationality or otherwise, but in this case he was almost architypically rude, in a manner I really didn't believe existing outside of comedic fiction. All in all it was a most thoroughly disagreeable experience, and I can quite honestly say I shall make every effort to avoid renting a car from Hertz in the future (easily done when you don't actually drive).

Thankfully Nicky and Kerry are headed safely home now. Ever better, everything fitted in the car. I really can't begin to say what a relief that was. Over the last week I'd worked myself into quite a tizzy over whether or not I'd be able to squeeze everything in - as I suspect you may have noticed. Now that everything is on it's way back to Edinburgh I feel positively at peace with the world again, able to sit back for a moment and relax - before throwing myself into the minutiae involved in redecorating my flat.

It may just be the calm before the storm I'm experiencing, but calm of any sort is more than welcome right now.

Not yet but almost - tomorrow morning is the big day, when my belongings vanish from my sight for the next few weeks. I'll be glad to see the back of them, although I'm still doubtful as to whether everything will fit in the car (fingers crossed), so it's possible some items may remain stranded with me. Time was, when I first came down here, that I couldn't wait to bring some familiar items with me, and from there to start building a nest, picking and pecking a lamp here and a fixture there. It was comforting at first, but now it's more clutter than I can easily process in a single sitting.

However much I might rally against such accumulation now, though, I'm still preparing to begin the process all over again, on an even grander scale this time. A kitchen here, a bedroom there - throw in a new shower room for good measure. What I have in mind represents an expenditure the likes of which I've not experienced since I first bought my flat. I've gotten used to living a somewhat frugal existence over the last few years, and I've largely decided it's a good life. Still, my environment remains my weakness - and my inability to compromise on it will soon cost me dear (literally to begin with - figuratively in the future I'm sure). I can deal with it for the moment, though - I'm too used to rented accommodation, and temporary nature of it, so I can still mentally label these future possessions as belonging to my flat rather than to myself personally. It's an artificial distinction, but one which will at least enable me to ponder the next few months without.

Mornings not far off - it's an early start for me. Boxes to shift, lives to move...

I'd heard it was good (partly why I booked tickets so far in advance), but I have to say The Producers managed to exceed even my already high expectations. It's almost effortlessly excellent - one of those rare shows that makes it's brilliance seem so easy and natural that you wonder why most everything else fails to reach the same standard.

Nathan Lane, replacing Richard Dreyfuss who dropped out at the last moment citing health issues, is simply incredible. No one could argue that it's his show and it's difficult to imagine anyone else in the role he seems born to play. His comic timing is beyond reproach and he owns the stage each time he appears upon it. Lee Evens copes admirably as Lane's partner in crime - although his singing is a touch weak compared to the rest of the cast, he more than makes up for it with his performance. His flailing limbs brand of comedy is ideally suited to the role and his rapport with Lane seems genuine.

Every aspect of the show melds together beautifully. The pacing is pitch perfect, the choreography stunning, and there's not a duff song in the score. And it's funny. Not just laugh out loud funny, but laugh until your sides are sore and you're begging them to stop funny. It's the best show I've seen in an age by a considerable margin. I've spent the past several years dragging people to see The Lion King, and whilst that remains a fantastic example of what can be accomplished on stage, The Producers is something equally wonderful yet entirely different.

Book your tickets now. It really is that good.

As I hoped, I managed to spent most of today with my mind occupied on matters unrelated to packing, and I feel all the better for it. Even coming back to it now it appears far less daunting than last night, despite little having changed in the interim. Again, I'm going to have to beg off from writing more right now, since my body is literally aching for sleep. Suffice it to say that everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and I'm rather looking forward to the remainder of the weekend.

'night.

How? I'm deathly serious when I ask that question. You're amongst my closest friends reading this and many of you have relocated across countries and continents, in some cases several times over. You've moved whole families and countless belongings across thousands of miles and for the most part you seem to have come through the experience with your sanity intact (or at least as much of it as you had to begin with).

By comparison, I only have myself to worry over and my possessions are relatively few, yet the thought of ever having to go through anything like this is enough to drive me to despair. I can't stand it, I just can't. I'm looking forward to taking hold of my flat, really I am, but gazing around me now, at the remaining odds and ends strewn around that I've yet to find room for, I feel at such a low ebb.

I'm meeting Nicky and Kerry at the airport tomorrow, and then I'm going to whisk them around the city and have fun, darnit. Just as well - in case you hadn't guessed already, I'm in desperate need of something to take my mind off all this

More stuff packed tonight and more to go tomorrow. The neat stack of cardboard growing in center of the room looks far too large to ever fit into the back of a car, though appearances are hopefully deceptive. I wish this were more fun. Sifting through old things, wallowing in nostalgia and fond memories. I think I found it enjoyable once, but it's rote now. Too familiar a routine - another box, another move. Another brick in the wall. Wash, rinse, repeat. Now I just feel tired, vaguely depressed and... cold. I should probably turn the heating on.

I'll be glad when it's over. I should go to bed now. Wake me up when it's Christmas.

Oh, this is just taking the biscuit now. It's bad enough that in my position at work I have to deal with football - only tangentially for the most part, but it's always there lurking about in the background, threatening to come to the fore at any moment if I let down my guard. Still, I've learned to live with it.

Now, however, we're branching out from football into two new directions. The first is rally car racing. Yes, not only will I have to put up with football, but we're now adding motor cars to the mix. Football and fast cars. I positively quiver with excitement. Sigh.

But wait, it gets better. "How?" you ask, "how we possible surpass this present pinnacle?" Why, by venturing into the adult entertainment industry, of course! Ironically, for a while I complained that we weren't making use of some of the cool stuff I developed. Well, we are now. Be careful what you wish for indeed.

Football, fast cars and porn. How on earth did I come to this?

I remain convinced that I'm in someone's dream job. I just hope I never have to meet them...

Perhaps it was simply that my first encounter with a kitchen sales person set my expectations to high. Perhaps I expected that tidal wave of obsequiousness (however pointed it may have been) to be replicated in every establishment I encountered. It's true that considering the amount of space I have, I'll be spending a modest sum compared amount required to kit out the cavernous kitchens I've seen elsewhere, but it's still a quantity of money I wouldn't readily dismiss.

Strange then to discover an overwhelming atmosphere of antipathy in so many shops I've visited. Most irritating are those sales assistants whom I approached in the hope that I'd be able to sit down with them to discuss my requirements and to guage, if only approximately, the cost of all the various bits and pieces (of which there a great, great many) only find myself rebuffed in a most bizarre and off-hand manner. In response to my overtures, two assistants (in differing shops) both quoted me extremely high figures they appeared to conjure out of thin air. Neither made any attempt to ascertain what I might be interested in, what size of kitchen I had to work with, and whether I'd need need appliances, or indeed any of the relevant information you'd actually need before giving a quote of any sort, however approximate. Indeed, when I tried to discover how that figure was arrived at - what proportion of it was units/appliances/work surfaces etc. - I received nothing more than glassy stares in response. One of them in particular seemed to fail to understand the question at all, and instead starting extolling the virtues of the units around her. My rephrasing the question a number of times failed to make any difference and in the end I just couldn't seem to derail her from her sales spiel - instead I had run out the door when her back was turned.

I'm currently leaning towards MFI, for the simple reason that they had a kitchen set up I rather like (the Townhouse range, which I can't seem to construct a link to irritatingly enough) that appears to be within my budget, and, perhaps most importantly of all, because the employee I spoke to was actually helpful. He answered all my questions, produced a realistic sounding estimate and did so without being the slightest bit pushy. I'm still slightly wary of them, especially given Simon's warnings on chains, but I don't need all that much from them, and what I do need is extremely straightforward - fortunately my families friends number a builder who recently did work similar to what I need for my brother. The only downside to choosing MFI is having to navigate through their seemingly never ending sales to actually work out what their appliances cost, but I'm quite happy to look elsewhere if it gets too intimidating...

It's a complex business. I'm never moving again.

I finally met my tenant face to face today. I can't say I'd been looking forward to the experience - after all, I handed him an eviction notice at a time I'd personally hate to be made homeless. And earlier in the day I'd been helping my eldest brother (along with my other brothers) clear out a shop that will soon serve as his new office and I was consequently covered in a dozen different shades of muck. (amusingly my Mum tried to persuade me that I should have worn some old clothes for the task - I had to explain to her that these were my old clothes). In short, I didn't think I was about to make the best possible first impression.

Still as it turned out I'd worried over nothing (me, worrying over nothing - can you imagine?). He turned out to be an extremely welcoming host, who seemed genuinely happy to meet me, and genuinely grateful that I'd allowed him use of my home for the past eighteen months. I for my part expressed my gratitude that he'd caretaken on my behalf. We spoke for a while, both learning something about the other, and I much enjoyed the conversation. My guilt was greatly assuaged when he confessed to me that he'd actually found the timing of the eviction to be beneficial. He'd been long planning on working on a project in France, but had so far lacked the necessary impetus to actually make his move. It was strange being back in my flat again, even more so to be a guest in it. Everything was broadly as I remembered it, though I'd realised how much I've filtered my memories of it. It was good to see it in person again. Made me realise why I decided on it - it's absurdly small, but delightful and quirky too.

It was also strange seeing how Tim, my tenant, had made it his home. Curiously he told me that he'd never seen it as a long term home - he'd never installed a phone line for example, or even turned on the central heating, but he'd still made an impression on the place. It was arranged and cluttered in a way I'd never conceived of, lending it a great warmth and homeliness. Chaotic, yes, but charming and whimsical too. Tim makes his living as an artist, a discovery which pleases me greatly. Much of his clutter included past and present projects and those that I saw I very much liked, particularly his current work in progress. Sadly, the finished painting will be beyond my budget, but he did say he was planning on releasing prints of his work. I'm definitely interested, on the merit of the work alone, although I must admit that the idea of owning a work of art that was actually created in my flat is an added incentive.

I discovered too that he has a website to advertise his wares. I offered him some advice on it, and one thing he asked me was how to increase his rankings on search sites such as Google. The best answer I could give was to simply get his site linked to, particularly from other relevant sites. It may not help him much, given that I'm hardly an authoritative voice on the subject, but I'd hazard that if you're in interested in contemporary original Scottish art you could do far worse than visit the website of Tim Sandys.

Least I can do really.

Let's have a brief recap and review of yesterdays events.

Yesterday morning my project at work was due to be loosed upon the world. I'm it's sole keeper and ultimately all responsibility for it falls to me. And I'm perfectly happy with that. Now, just before I pushed the big red button to launch it/loose armageddon upon the world, I ran through my checklist of things that had to be done beforehand. I'd already checked it before, but it usually behooves to be extra careful with something like this, because the consequences if it went wrong would quite spectacularly bad (for me, rather than the world at large, which to be honest could probably care less). It was just as well I'd double checked, because I found something had not been done, despite the fact I'd previously ticked it off. The reason why I'd ticked it off was rather straightforward. I'd asked one of the database administrators to perform an updated I needed. I'd asked them if it had been done and they said yes. Tick. I'd even received a nice email with lots of text in all caps, with the text helpfully shaded a lovely colour of crimson to emphasise this (I'll admit that I'd been somewhat stroppy with the administrator before, which explains the equally stroppy email).

Now, my launch window, the time in which I could safely launch my project, was narrowing with every passing moment. Not wishing to waste a minute longer, I dashed around to find our database administrators, to beg of them to make the changes I required without delay. As I was in flight, somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, I was picturing a scenario in which I explained to them the urgency of my plight, and they recognised this and did what I asked. It's a nice little bedtime story, isn't it?

Instead I found myself being dragged into an argument over who was at fault. I saw the abyss we were about to spiral down well before we reached it's edge, but despite this, despite my proclamation that I didn't care whose fault it was, I just needed it done now (I'm sure I waved my arms in the air several times during this conversation to emphasise my point), despite all this, I still found myself pulled into this nonsensical discussion. They simply refused to take action until they had a culprit to point a finger at, their fingers being aimed at me at the time. My relationship with blame is such that I'm quite happy to court it, whenever it's in my vicinity. It's a pragmatic approach, since once I've conveniently disposed of it, I'm usually free to get on with more important matters. It didn't work in this case. I admitted I was at fault - as I said before, the final responsibility with this project is mine and mine alone, and I do not shirk from that. I should have personally checked these things sooner than I did. However, even after this, the debate continued. More frantic arm waving on my part failed to have any noticeable effect. By this point both database administrators had firmly dug their heels into the ground and were feigning ignorance on the subject. Yes, quite amazingly they were denying any knowledge of what I'd asked them to do, and since they weren't about to do anything about it, I had to run back to my desk and produce the scarlet email I'd received from them on the subject earlier. This email dated from last week, by the way. I'm still not sure whether they were denying knowledge (strenuously denying it at that), or whether they really do have shorter memories than the average goldfish.

Anyway, the act of forwarding the relevant email back to them, as well as a couple of people further up the corporate foodchain, ensured the fickle finger of blame was soon safely oriented back in their direction. And the transformation was remarkable. Let me stop and quote one of the database administrators at this point:

Well, let's make the change we need and then worry about who's to blame later

I could just about have cried out "Well of course you're saying that now, because it's your fault!" in a manner not too dissimilar to John Cleese in full Basil Fawlty mode. Honestly, the air was thick with the stench of rank hypocrisy. I didn't really believe people behaved this way in the real world. I know every once in a while I encounter people with attitudes diametrically opposed to my own world view, but it always catches me by surprise, and never ceases to amaze me.

My relationship with these people is at a new low now, but fortunately for me, I only have to deal with them face to face for a few more weeks. Thank goodness.

Anyway, I'd going to be up north for the next few days, so amuse yourselves again. I'll check back in Sunday evening. See you then.

Today turned out to be inordinately busy for me, for a variety of reasons. Work... well, that's a story I'll save for later, simply because I want to have a good vent about the actions of a couple of my co-workers and I don't have the time to vent properly just now.

The latter part of the day (well, the evening to be pedantic) was spent in the company of rAdam again, on his last day in the UK for the immediate future.

All of this deserves elaboration which you simply aren't going to receive tonight - sorry to disappoint you. To make up for it, take a glance at this link. Perhaps the best use for water cress I've yet encountered.

It begins again.

Nicky and Kerry arrive a week on Friday and it occurred to me that I'd best begin packing. I'll be heading up to Edinburgh this Friday evening, so I've decided to try and spread the load a little by taking as much as I can with me on the train. So far I've emptied one shelf and a single drawer, and there's a lot left to go. I'd forgotten how voluminous stuff can be. It doesn't look nearly as intimidating sitting neatly stacked on a shelf or tucked away within the deep dark confines of a drawer or wardrobe. Taken out of it's appropriate hiding place, however, it mutates into a gelatinous mass, oozing to spread across every conceivable surface. One snag encountered is that I've been unable to hire a van up to Edinburgh. The various vehicular hire firms I've tried only allow car hires one way - vans must be returned, which is something of a nuisance when you're talking about a 400 mile drive cross country. Consequently I've settled on as large an estate car as I could find, but I'm worried that I may well run out of room. Moving last time around took three trips in a small hatchback, but there are several large items I shan't be taking with me, such as a papasan chair, and a shelving unit, not the mention the large volume of stuff I intend to heft northwards this weekend.

I'm hoping I can persuade the remainder to fit, but if not I'm prepared to make sacrifices...

I stumbled across a fascinating site yesterday. Grand Illusions appears to be a shop primarily, but besides that it's filled with the sorts of curiosities that fascinated me as a child (and which fascinate me still), along with explanations, videos and several links to interesting sources.

A lot of it will be familiar to you I'm sure (especially to Jonathan), but there are several tricks and illusions new to me that I took great delight in discovering, such as the torofluxus, the gaussian gun and the checkerboard illusion. It's a peculiar hodge podge of a site, in character much like one of those dusty old shops you encounter on a rainy day which invite you in to gaze in wonder at the bizarre arrays of strange and wonderful knick knacks therein.

You may not end up buying anything, but then to do so would almost seem to be entirely beside the point...

Having decided that my already burgeoning list of home improvements wasn't intimidating enough, I've opted to add a new kitchen to my shopping list. Quite where this notion came from remains a mystery to me - it popped into my head without warning when I woke up one morning - but it seems well and truly lodged now so I may as well run with it.

So far it's turned out to be an educational experience. I hadn't realised just how much I'd taken kitchens for granted before deciding to get one of my own. Before I paid them very little heed indeed. Now I'm seeing kitchens everywhere: On television, in newspapers and magazines (there are so many magazines devoted to home improvements! I had no idea...), even in friends houses (people with new kitchens, I've discovered, are remarkably happy to demonstrate their features if asked, in a manner not dissimilar to new parents and their infants. It's not a connection I intend to dwell on...). I'm by no means fluent in kitchen, but I am pleased at the rate I've picked up the vocabulary and syntax. Conversations featuring mysterious terminology such as splashbacks, shakers and carcasses faze me no longer, thanks in part the vast array of promotional material I've gathered from a number of... erm, kitchen shops.

In general my foray into the world of kitchen shopping has been rather covert. I have a natural distrust of sales people, my level of trust typically being inversely proportional to amount of money involved (which reminds me of one of my other discoveries: kitchens are expensive!), so I've done my very best to explore as many shops as I can, picking up as many brochures as I can carry, whilst encountering as few sales people as physically possible. If you've played any of the stealth based computer games that have become popular over the last few years you'll have a fair idea of how I went about it. A mirror to peer around corners with would have been useful, come to think of it. It's been a pretty successful strategy so far - even now my floor is covered with a neat checker board of pamphlets to allow for side by side comparisons (not just to raise obvious questions about my mental state in the minds any visitors) and a scarcely had to speak to a person to obtain them. Today, however, I got caught out rather badly, when I visited one of the smaller establishments just a little ways down the road. The main problem with such a small shop floor is that it severely limits the number of hiding places. As I soon found out. Scarcely had a I walked through the door when I was pounced upon by an ebullient saleswoman. In self defense I sought to evade her enthusiasm by asking for a catalogue, hoping that I could obtain whatever literature was available before making good my escape. It availed me not - the saleswoman apologised for having just run out of brochures but, even as she sidled somewhat sinisterly between me and my point of egress, she told me that if I were to leave my name and address, she'd be only too happy to mail me something.

Alarm bells duly started ringing in my head. I dislike giving out my home address since to do so to a stranger, or worse, to a sales person, will usually guarantee a future flurry of unwanted junk mail. However, I calmed myself, recalling that I have only six weeks left in this place and risk (and junk mail) be damned, I wanted that catalogue. This turned out to be a mistake. With hindsight now, I can see her ploy for what it was, a means to engage me in conversation, all the while extolling the virtues of her range of kitchens. In this she succeeded quite admirably, appearing, to mine innocent eyes at least, knowledgeable on the subject, as well as proving friendly and personable. We conversed far longer than I'd intended, and I'll admit she convinced me her company was at least worthy of my consideration.

In the end, as I was about to take my leave she offered me her business card. Just before I accepted it however, she paused for a moment, reached into a drawer... and pulled out a catalogue to which she stapled her card. It's a little thing admittedly, but connection and trust she'd spent so much time and effort to establish evaporated in that instant.

I took her card, thanked her for her time, walked out, and promptly deposited both card and catalogue in the nearest bin.

I volunteered to work to today in order to secure myself an extended weekend when Nicky and Kerry come down to visit. It proved a moderately productive day, since I was able to start my next project and complete the bulk of it. Given that it was scheduled to run through until Christmas I imagine my manager will be pleased (my previous projects have not be lauded for their timeliness shall we say). Although I had previously warned him that he was drastically overestimating the amount of time it would require, I don't think I managed to impress on him just how drastically.

Hopefully by way of a reward I'll be granted leeway to potter around with a few bits and pieces I've been hoping to get my hands on for a while. The problem with these sorts of things is that they usually fall just below the business radar - important, perhaps, but not quite important enough to do anything about just yet. As such they typically get shoved to one side, left to fester unseen in a corner somewhere. And I do hate to have things fester on my watch.

Forgive me my brevity, but I'm in a gruff mood right now, having spent over 30 minutes waiting at bus stop for a bus that should cycle past every eight minutes according to the posted information, with no shelter from headache inducingly cold wind chill, after missing an earlier bus because it seemed the driver didn't feel like stopping for me.

I repeat again: bah!

Spoilers ho!

Perhaps the greatest disadvantage of my current abode is it's paucity of appliances, most notably a washing machine. It's a relatively minor nuisance, given that there two Laundromats within a hundred meters. Most often I simply drop my washing off and return to collect it precisely 22 minutes and 40 seconds later. I've got the timing perfected so I can usually walk through the door just as the final spin cycle clicks to a halt and collect my washing in the minimum amount of time - this is particularly important to me, since I find Laundromats to be soul-sappingly depressing places in which I endeavour to spend as little time as humanly possible.

Today, though, the washing machine I'd picked (third from the right, instead of my usual choice of third from the left - someone else was using it, grrr), seemed to have developed an unfortunate attachment to my washing. When I tried to open the door on the machine I found that it refused to to budge. Tugging a little harder caused the machine to emit a series of disconcerting creaks and groans which discouraged me from attempting to use brute force to open it. I jiggled the handle about for a little while longer, but to no avail. Unsure of what to do next I sat down crossed legged in front of the washing machine. I waved at my laundry to make sure it was ok. It waved back, apparently unperturbed or unaware of it's predicament. As I sat there contemplating my future existence in a world without clean underwear, I was caught unawares by an old man who'd crept up behind me. He looked down at me, smiling a quizzical sort of smile I'm certain I've mention of in novels by Terry Pratchett, and gently tapped one corner of the washing machine. The door sprung open and my laundry flopped into my lap. I thanked him and he nodded at me and walked on.

By now I really shouldn't be surprised to note that these things really do happen in real life...

It's a rare occurrence that I lose sleep over my job. I still enjoy it, and I care about it, and the work I do. But it feels... staid to me now. A shade too familiar, as though I can go about my business safe in the knowledge that the day will contain few surprises for me. In someways this is good. Predictability, if anathema to excitement, at least makes it easy to deliver work with some consistency. On the other hand it means that when things do go wrong it comes as a bit of a shock.

The project I've been hard at work at for the last couple of months is near completion and has gone swimmingly well thus far. The various components involved all behaved exactly as they should and I'd managed to throw in several neat additions that will delight at least a few people when they discover what I've done. Late last week I started to move the code onto a test set up which more closely parallels our production environment. And as expected everything went as well as I could have hoped for...

...until it all froze up after about an hour. The hackles on the back of my neck raised slightly at that point. I wasn't worried yet. After all, it wasn't necessarily my code that caused the problem - there could have been other forces at work. Dark, nefarious forces intent on bringing me to heel. Or something like that. Anyway, with the slightest trepidation, I reset everything, and kicked it all off once more. Again, everything went fine... until it all stopped about two hours later. The next iteration lasted only about 17 minutes. The only consistency was that it would invariably terminate, although at a random interval, and seemingly without rhyme or reason. My raised hackles were now joined a thin trickle of cold sweat.

I spent two days trying to discover what the problem might be, without much success. My best guess in the end was that a firewall, peculiar to this particular test environment - for arcane reasons that I shan't delve into - was somehow interfering, although I'm no network engineer and the network engineer we do have proved singularly unhelpful on the topic, being unable to confirm or deny much of anything, or to even look slightly interested in what was going on. With desperation setting in, I managed to concoct a firewall-less test environment, copied the code onto it, and set matters in motion once more. This was about a 4pm yesterday. By 5:30pm it was still running. In and of itself this meant little - on the old set up it had managed to run for three hours once. Since I could do little more than wait, I went home, there to sit around and obsess about what I would find when I went into work the following morn. After a while I decided that I'd sat around and obsessed enough without achieving much, and sloped off to bed. I ended up laying in bad, wide awake, obsessing about it instead. After several more hours of obsessing I eventually drifted off to sleep... only to wake up a couple of hours later to begin the obsessing all over again.

Unable to take the suspense any longer, I practically ran to the office this morning to find out what had happened. And it was still running. By god it was still running! I skipped around the office for a bit after that, trilling to those I passed in the corridor "it works, it works!". They had no idea what I was talking about, but really I didn't care. It worked! And it was still worked even as I left this evening.

This has not been a fun 24 hours! I'm immensely glad that things are once more behaving as I intended them to, but I'm feeling extremely testy to a particular network engineer. Razzin' frazzin' firewall. Tomorrow I'm going to have words with someone about that...

With everything else I have to keep myself busy with right now, I've given entirely too little thought to how I'm going to cope working by myself at home in the new year. The only remotely comparable experience I have is from a good many years ago, when I first came down to London. I found myself working alone in a cube in an office for few a few months, not knowing anyone around me, and not speaking to anyone about anything save work. For obvious reasons I found it a wholly miserable experience. There were other factors involved which added to the experience, the most significant being the crippling homesickness I was feeling, not helped by my being holed up inside a hotel for much of the time outside work. The idea of being put up in a hotel for a few months seemed quite exciting at first (someone else is paying for all this? Wow!), until I realised just what lonely places hotels can be. I feel immense pity, whether deserved or not, for anyone who has to eat alone day after day in a hotel restaurant. I found it absolutely soul-sapping and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Believe it or not, I've never been entirely at ease in hotels since.

Bodes well, doesn't it?

Still, I'm sure things will be different this time (isn't that one of signs of madness? Repeating the same actions over and over, each time expecting a different outcome? But I digress...) Having my family nearby and some sort of support system at hand will make all the difference, and the prospect of working from home is not totally unappealing (note that I reserve the right to reverse that judgement). The commute, for instance, or more to the point, the inherent lack thereof. My daily traversal into work is hardly the most torturous affair, especially compared with those I've worked with in the past., but I'll be more than happy to see the back of it. London and it's inhabitants exude stress, and other people's tribulations are easily sensed from a distance, let alone when you find your face too close to comfort to someone else armpit (at which point you discover what else Londoners exude).

In my experience there seems to be an unwritten rule that states someone's level of ambition is directly proportional to their commuting distance. Certainly the most driven people I recall working with spent the greatest amount of time travelling. One in particular drove for three hours each way each day. Of course, it could simply be charitable of me to call him driven. Mad may be a more fitting description, although I believe he's managing a sucessful company in California now, so I can only assume he did something right. I am not one of those people. One of the reasons why I chose my flat was for the location. It's 7 minutes walk away from the heart of the Edinburgh. Close to major bus routes that will get me around the city, and perhaps 15 minutes walk away from the train station that will get me out of the city. I'm a creature of convenience, and if I'm not proud of that fact, I can at least accept it. Others can race about in their planes, trains and automobiles. I'll be quite content to roll out of bed into my workplace. I know, I know, it will wear thin sooner or later. So I may as well make the best of it while it lasts. Perhaps I'll even stay in bed :)

For all that I zealously guard my time, it seems that it's going to be an increasingly precious commodity over the next few weeks. That's not necessarily a bad thing, since it means I'm filling time rather than sitting around desperately waiting to pass (let's call that Christmas Eve syndrome). Over the weeks ahead I have to attend various birthday parties, one soiree around a grand piano, and a pantomime, entertain my brother and his wife (my sister in law and her husband?) when they come down to visit, go on holiday, travel back to Edinburgh for my big sisters birthday, do my Christmas shopping, go on holiday (I know I listed that twice, but I really need a holiday), tidy up my affairs at work, arrange a new bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, fireplace and flooring for my flat and ... and... I'm sure I'm forgetting something... oh, yes, and relocate my life 400 miles northwards.

I'm expecting panic to set in any moment now...

I'm genuinely happy that something like this exists. I've haven't looked at them all yet, but The Mobius is an absolutely inspired idea, which to be quite honest I wish I'd though of. Actually, I did once think of something very much like it, but as is my way I completely failed to do anything about it. I'm glad someone else has more get up and go about these matters than I do to. To quote Warren Ellis: "it makes me realise the world is a better place than advertised."

Here's an idea for a social networking application that I'll likely never get around to writing but which I'm jotting down here because I like the concept and this will be a useful reminder to me in future. I'm basing my criticisms of the genre on Friendster in particular since it's the only application of this ilk I've any experience of.

The problem I see with something like Friendster is that it's essentially voyeuristic in nature. It might encourage you to browse through your chain of friends, and provide tools for narrowing those to a subset with similar interests as your own, but it offers little beyond that. Of course you can send messages to other users, even to groups of friends, but that does little to counter the inherent passiveness that permeates the concept. I believe the missing piece of the puzzle is a means of encouraging people to get off the net and to go and interact with the real world. Friendster doesn't give it's users this push as far as I can tell.

What I think would be worthwhile is a combination of something like Friendster and a calendar application. The basics of Friendster would remain, but I would make the calendar at least as much of a focus as the list of friends, if not the primary focus. The purpose of the calendar is to encourage you (and everyone else) to organise events. The events you organise become visible to your direct friends and their chain of friends (within a small degree of separation). Similarly you can view events organised by others in your social circle. Each time you log in, you see what new events have been organised by your chain, in your area, as well as those that are due in the near future. By focusing on public events, rather than one-to-one messaging - it hopefully neatly sidesteps the problem of being co-opted into becoming a dating site. I do like the idea of something that encourages interaction in the real world - which is surely the point of such applications, and I can conceive of it being useful amongst a small circles of friend, for maintaining a shared public diary.

It's an idea that feels right to me. What do you think?

I take it back. I received a copy of the lease termination notice that was sent to my tenant on my behalf. I know his name now. It's trivial thing, the smallest of details, yet it carries such weight. Names have power we're told by countless myths and fictions. To know someone's true name is to hold sway over their destiny. And yet it seem to me I cede power by knowing my tenant's title. Nameless no longer, I can't help but ponder my actions and the effect on his life. Whereas once I acted upon his fate with abandon, I'm now forced to consider the outcome of my actions.

My appointment with guilt was merely delayed, it seems...

I'm genuinely glad it's over. The hype and rhetoric had long ceased to be either meaningful or constructive. If it was inescapable from my safe harbour here in the UK I dread to think what it must have felt like for the inhabitants of Ohio and Florida. Watching the debates a couple of weeks ago was quite frankly depressing. Both candidates trotted out the same well worn phrases over and over, and both seemed as keen to use every available opportunity to attack his opponent as much his opponents arguments. I'll admit I had an idealised vision of what a constructive debate should look like. This wasn't it.

The news that Bush managed to receive a higher percentage of the popular vote than even Clinton is baffling to me, and perhaps as eloquent a condemnation of Kerry as I can imagine. I don't suppose I can be too hard on Kerry though. True he lacks Bush's simplistic charisma and warmth (perceived warmth, let's say) and his voting record displays signs of political opportunism, but I doubt these are reason enough to condemn him, particularly given the failings of the incumbent. Ultimately he couldn't prevail against the ruthlessly effective campaign wrought against him by the Bush camp. From the Swift Boat veterans to the horribly memorable accusations of "flip flopping" he was outmanoeuvred at every turn, and his attempts to fight back against the waves of misinformation came too late.

Ultimately Karl Rove is to be congratulated on masterminding a successful campaign. His strategy was as ingenious as it was detestable, consisting as it did of a shameful appeal to the Christian far right at the expense of the center ground. This from a president who once campaigned as a moderate, a so-called compassionate conservative who believed himself a "uniter, not a divider." What mockery has been made of that claim now.

Four more years.

Bleh.

It's strange to think that for the past 18 months or so I've been bound in a curious symbiotic relationship with someone I've never even met. It stems from a mutually beneficial pact: In return for a few brick walls, the odd amenity or two, and shelter from the elements, my tenant has been graciously paying my mortgage on a more or less regular basis (less regular than I sometimes would have preferred, but everything seems to have balanced out thus far). Our lives have never intersected beyond this dependency. We've never conversed, never interacted - save through the machinations of a lettings agency - and never once laid eyes on one another.

I'm somewhat conflicted as to how I should feel now that I've finally moved to terminate this unspoken (though thoroughly contracted) bond of ours. I expected to feel perhaps a pang of regret, and most certainly a strong tide of guilt. I am after all evicting someone from their home of 18 months. Strangely though, these emotions are most notable by their absence. I will apologise to you, the nameless flat renting entity that you are to me. I do dislike the idea that I should be making you homeless during the festive season. I'd rather it was another time, but then I doubt there is an ideal time for my perfidy. And at the same time I can't disguise the little part of me that's even now jumping up and down with glee at the prospect of your vacating my premises. No regret. No guilt. I do appreciate all that you've done for me, but I hope that you'll understand that I really can't wait to see the back of you.

Hmm, what a novel concept this "no guilt" thing is...

I'm surround by birthdays at the moment, in the present, past and future. There are those which are almost upon me (well upon those whose birthdays are actually approaching), those which occuring even as I write, and those which have passed. Of these it's the last that's causing me most upset, since it includes one of the most important people in my life (who will remain nameless, since said person is somewhat camera shy), whose birthday I managed to overlook and I'm extremely upset with myself to have missed it :(

Happy birthday again. And to everyone else whose birthday falls around now.

If anyone needs me, I'll be sitting in the corner consumed by guilt...

Technically it's not past one o'clock in the morning, but since my body remains convinced otherwise you'll need to excuse me if I slope off to bed without saying much.

ZZZZzzzzzz.....