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I work with geniuses. Geniuses are very intelligent, however intelligence is only really good for getting you into problems. Common sense is considered a swearword where I work. I can't afford to live where I live. I need a hug.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Tell the charm school that they've failed and we want a refund
My boss's boss, the uber-boss (aka the fat controller, for reasons that are obvious) has spent the last two weeks at a residential course. His good mood on returning seems to have lasted a whole day, and we're back to cowering behind our desks, afraid to stick our heads over the metaphorical parapet.
He's very much akin to a viking raiding party in my mind, in as much as he turns up, makes a nuicance of himself and then sods off again (usually early). His working week seems to run from eleven on a Monday to half past twelve on a Friday, while leaving before I do most days.
Life is unfair.
But on thinking about it, I'm glad that life is unfair. Wouldn't it make you feel so much worse if you deserved all the terrible things that happen to you?
Congratulations Jon on getting your very much truncated but none the less printed letter in the torygraph. Shame you put didcot as your address.
He's very much akin to a viking raiding party in my mind, in as much as he turns up, makes a nuicance of himself and then sods off again (usually early). His working week seems to run from eleven on a Monday to half past twelve on a Friday, while leaving before I do most days.
Life is unfair.
But on thinking about it, I'm glad that life is unfair. Wouldn't it make you feel so much worse if you deserved all the terrible things that happen to you?
Congratulations Jon on getting your very much truncated but none the less printed letter in the torygraph. Shame you put didcot as your address.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
"Hands off blue"* and other rants
* Paddy O'Brien (referee of the England - France game on Sunday), repeatedly.
It has to be said, how the hell did we manage to lose that?
We missed as many points in penalties as the french scored. It also has to be said that if neither of your two kickers can find the posts with a tracker dog and a ouiga board then stop trying to score penalties. Especially from the half-way line. Kick to the corners, they're bigger.
It doesn't really strike me as surprising that Charlie Hodgson's confidence was completely and utterly shot, taking kick after kick at ranges best described as marginal to not-a-hope.
The only one that I can really find fault with was that shockingly bad drop-goal attempt (or was it a miscued kick to the corner?) at the end.
Royal Weddings
Honestly, I will garrotte the next person who asks me for my view on the upcoming royal wedding. I DO NOT CARE. I don't think that it's any of my business what they get up to.
Pubs Closing on Time
This unfortunate trend should be stamped out mercilessly. Honestly, if the Hare starts closing at 11pm it will go out of business, as the drunkards only usually start arriving at 10pm at the earliest. Unless that is the idea, have it go out of business and convert it into housing?
Germaine Greer and the Hunting Debate
I saw a fascinating documentary over the weekend, about the cruelties of fox hunting and other countryside ways of life that are normal. It's always entertaining to see the prejudices expressed by an Australian feminist authour and academic (just to show you my prejudices, what the hell do you have to do to get a PhD in English and French Literature, other than read a lot of English and French books and write about them?). Mmmm yes chasing foxes is cruel, but when the chase ends the fox is either dead almost instananeously, or it escapes. The alternatives are relatively few, of course we could lamp the foxes (shine a bright light in their eyes and then shoot them with a high-powered rifle when they freeze), or rather we could if we had enough marksmen to do it, and they had rifles, but guns=bad, and I'm sure that most foxes that are shot are hit by pellets from a 12-bore, limp off and die of either starvation or gangrene. We could gas them in their lairs or poison them, but that isn't very humane. Bearing in mind the statistics that the more or less impartial producers include, the best way to control fox numbers is to drive around a lot and electrify the railway lines.
I think the most entertaining part of the programme was when she met up with an urban pest-control officer who firstly shot a caged fox in the head at a range of inches, distressing her no end. He then proceeded to tell her the effect that rat poison has on those other cute urban mammals that everyone likes, black rats. Much to Dr Greer's abhorrance, black rats that eat rat poison bleed to death internally, once again very humane.
Having watched the programme I've reached the conclusion again that hunting isn't unduely cruel in comparison with, say poisoning, or being hit a glancing blow from a passing car.
And also that Dr Greer, as an expert in the fields of feminism, publishing and literature shold be kept away from people whose expertise is based in more practical issues, like reality, for the good of all concerned.
The Cricket
I think Dan is right England-Batting-Collapse is only one word. Still, at least they're home now, so no more humiliations until the summer.
The McLibel Two
...who have just been told by the European Court of Human Rights that they should have received legal aid in their attempt to (unsucessfully) defend themselves in court when they handed out libellous leaflets, and proceded to spend the years 1990-7 seemingly trying to delay it as much as possible. Apparently our taxes should have been helping this process.
According to the BBC website "Ms Steel and Mr Morris, both from Tottenham, north London, argued that the government breached their human rights by failing to make legal aid available and because the libel laws obliged them to justify every word of anti-McDonald's allegations contained in the leaflets they distributed."
If I were stupid enough to commit libel, I would expect to have to justify every word of what I'd written, as opposed to an easier system, every other word perhaps?
...and finally, something that isn't a rant
The Phoenix Astronomical Society have built their own copy of Stonehenge, about an hours drive north of Wellington, NZ. Mainly because the original is a bit to fragile to have astronomers clambering over it.Also I feel that it's a hell of a lot more convenient to get to if you're in New Zeland.
Check it out here: http://www.astronomynz.org.nz/stonehenge/stonehenge.htm
It has to be said, how the hell did we manage to lose that?
We missed as many points in penalties as the french scored. It also has to be said that if neither of your two kickers can find the posts with a tracker dog and a ouiga board then stop trying to score penalties. Especially from the half-way line. Kick to the corners, they're bigger.
It doesn't really strike me as surprising that Charlie Hodgson's confidence was completely and utterly shot, taking kick after kick at ranges best described as marginal to not-a-hope.
The only one that I can really find fault with was that shockingly bad drop-goal attempt (or was it a miscued kick to the corner?) at the end.
Royal Weddings
Honestly, I will garrotte the next person who asks me for my view on the upcoming royal wedding. I DO NOT CARE. I don't think that it's any of my business what they get up to.
Pubs Closing on Time
This unfortunate trend should be stamped out mercilessly. Honestly, if the Hare starts closing at 11pm it will go out of business, as the drunkards only usually start arriving at 10pm at the earliest. Unless that is the idea, have it go out of business and convert it into housing?
Germaine Greer and the Hunting Debate
I saw a fascinating documentary over the weekend, about the cruelties of fox hunting and other countryside ways of life that are normal. It's always entertaining to see the prejudices expressed by an Australian feminist authour and academic (just to show you my prejudices, what the hell do you have to do to get a PhD in English and French Literature, other than read a lot of English and French books and write about them?). Mmmm yes chasing foxes is cruel, but when the chase ends the fox is either dead almost instananeously, or it escapes. The alternatives are relatively few, of course we could lamp the foxes (shine a bright light in their eyes and then shoot them with a high-powered rifle when they freeze), or rather we could if we had enough marksmen to do it, and they had rifles, but guns=bad, and I'm sure that most foxes that are shot are hit by pellets from a 12-bore, limp off and die of either starvation or gangrene. We could gas them in their lairs or poison them, but that isn't very humane. Bearing in mind the statistics that the more or less impartial producers include, the best way to control fox numbers is to drive around a lot and electrify the railway lines.
I think the most entertaining part of the programme was when she met up with an urban pest-control officer who firstly shot a caged fox in the head at a range of inches, distressing her no end. He then proceeded to tell her the effect that rat poison has on those other cute urban mammals that everyone likes, black rats. Much to Dr Greer's abhorrance, black rats that eat rat poison bleed to death internally, once again very humane.
Having watched the programme I've reached the conclusion again that hunting isn't unduely cruel in comparison with, say poisoning, or being hit a glancing blow from a passing car.
And also that Dr Greer, as an expert in the fields of feminism, publishing and literature shold be kept away from people whose expertise is based in more practical issues, like reality, for the good of all concerned.
The Cricket
I think Dan is right England-Batting-Collapse is only one word. Still, at least they're home now, so no more humiliations until the summer.
The McLibel Two
...who have just been told by the European Court of Human Rights that they should have received legal aid in their attempt to (unsucessfully) defend themselves in court when they handed out libellous leaflets, and proceded to spend the years 1990-7 seemingly trying to delay it as much as possible. Apparently our taxes should have been helping this process.
According to the BBC website "Ms Steel and Mr Morris, both from Tottenham, north London, argued that the government breached their human rights by failing to make legal aid available and because the libel laws obliged them to justify every word of anti-McDonald's allegations contained in the leaflets they distributed."
If I were stupid enough to commit libel, I would expect to have to justify every word of what I'd written, as opposed to an easier system, every other word perhaps?
...and finally, something that isn't a rant
The Phoenix Astronomical Society have built their own copy of Stonehenge, about an hours drive north of Wellington, NZ. Mainly because the original is a bit to fragile to have astronomers clambering over it.Also I feel that it's a hell of a lot more convenient to get to if you're in New Zeland.
Check it out here: http://www.astronomynz.org.nz/stonehenge/stonehenge.htm
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
JD Witherspoons
I looked on their website, there are two pubs equidistant from home, one is in Reading and one is in Swindon. Each are 30.0 km away.
It strikes me as a long way to go not to smoke in a pub, so I'll stick to smoking in my locals.
Rugby on Sunday was fun, apart from the irritating little git who thought that stepping on my ribs a few times when I was stuck in a ruck would be fun. To quote Dan "I was almost annoyed".
It strikes me as a long way to go not to smoke in a pub, so I'll stick to smoking in my locals.
Rugby on Sunday was fun, apart from the irritating little git who thought that stepping on my ribs a few times when I was stuck in a ruck would be fun. To quote Dan "I was almost annoyed".
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Another "woe is me" post.
The cretins at high command have just given us a couple of new quarterly reports that we have to run for our VAT return. I can only assume that they intended their use for small quiet departments where not much happens, and the loudest noise is the sound of arteries hardening. In order to fit the report on a page, it needs to be in landscape - not portrait and even then you need to run it at less than 50% of normal size. This wouldn't be a problem under most circumstances but seeing as the report is produced in 8 point type initially, the resulting printout is in less than 4 point type and you need a magnifying glass to read it.
Oh and by the way, between the two reports there's 54 pages of magnifying glass work to be done before the 15th. If anyone sees me talking to a coatrack or large plant in the next couple of weeks don't be alarmed, I've just gone blind (of course if you see me in a car, just run).
On the more entertaining side, the print is so close together that it has raised areas of the pages surface. So somewhere on the 54 pages I've probably got something very rude in braile.
Thackery of the week:
The Hair of the Widow of Bridlington
She was a widow in Bridlington, she was, was the widow of Brid,
Small and bonny at forty-two,
With eyes of very unsettling blue,
And what she thought she ought to do
She did, she did, she did;
Whatever she thought she ought to do
She did, did the widow of Brid.
"My only darling's dead, he is, and all my children grown;
"The house has emptied, all the love-birds flown.
"In place of widow's weeds I'll let my coal black hair grow long:
"As glossy as a blackbird's wing, as cocky as his song."
She found that she could please herself, she could, could the widow of Brid:
Swim in the sea when she felt hot,
Stay in bed when she did not.
And she began to laugh a lot,
She did, she did, she did,
To sing and dance and laugh a lot,She did, did the widow of Brid.
And sometimes she would drop the shopping, leave the bed unmade
And sit till evening on the esplanade.
She'd sometimes go to church and call on Jesus by his name.
She fed as any blackbird would, whenever hunger came.
She learned to play the violin, she did, did the widow of Brid,
And Saturday night in a drinking shop
She jumped upon the counter top
And fiddled till the dancers dropped,
She did, she did, she did,
Stomping upon the copper top
She did, did the widow of Brid.
And she was fond of fishing boats and all their beardy crew
And partial to a salty kiss or two.
And some of them would gruffly whisper, "Marry me and stay".
But blackbirds do their singing from a different bush each day.
She had a massive motorbike, she had, had the widow of Brid,
And so she could, when so she wished,
Ride back home early-morningish
With her hair in the air and smelling of fish,
She did, she did, she did,
And every time of a different fish,
She did, did the widow of Brid.
And though she did no harm the neighbours sniffed, as neighbours do,
And day by day a cankerous rancour grew.
And many a pair of front-room curtains twitched and shook with rage,
For she was wild as blackbirds are and they were in a cage.
They came and broke her window panes, they did, of the widow of Brid,
Spat upon her cycle shed,
Dragged her out of her Sunday bed
And cropped her hair and shaved her head,
They did, they did, they did;
They chopped the hair and shaved the head,
They did, of the widow of Brid.
And when her sobs and hiccups stopped she tidied everywhere,
She cleaned the shed, she swept up all the hair.
Some few of them came back in shame to ask her would she stay,
But if you ever startle blackbirds, blackbirds go away.
She sold up house and bought a wig, a wig, did the widow of Brid,
And unrepenting, undeterred,
She thundered off to cause a stir
In poor old bloody Scarborough,
She did, she did, she did.
"Forget the spit and the window pane.
"Bugger Brid! I'm still the same.
"My hair will always grow again."
It did, it did, it did.
"My hair will always grow again."
It did, it did, did, did, on the widow of Brid.
Oh and by the way, between the two reports there's 54 pages of magnifying glass work to be done before the 15th. If anyone sees me talking to a coatrack or large plant in the next couple of weeks don't be alarmed, I've just gone blind (of course if you see me in a car, just run).
On the more entertaining side, the print is so close together that it has raised areas of the pages surface. So somewhere on the 54 pages I've probably got something very rude in braile.
Thackery of the week:
The Hair of the Widow of Bridlington
She was a widow in Bridlington, she was, was the widow of Brid,
Small and bonny at forty-two,
With eyes of very unsettling blue,
And what she thought she ought to do
She did, she did, she did;
Whatever she thought she ought to do
She did, did the widow of Brid.
"My only darling's dead, he is, and all my children grown;
"The house has emptied, all the love-birds flown.
"In place of widow's weeds I'll let my coal black hair grow long:
"As glossy as a blackbird's wing, as cocky as his song."
She found that she could please herself, she could, could the widow of Brid:
Swim in the sea when she felt hot,
Stay in bed when she did not.
And she began to laugh a lot,
She did, she did, she did,
To sing and dance and laugh a lot,She did, did the widow of Brid.
And sometimes she would drop the shopping, leave the bed unmade
And sit till evening on the esplanade.
She'd sometimes go to church and call on Jesus by his name.
She fed as any blackbird would, whenever hunger came.
She learned to play the violin, she did, did the widow of Brid,
And Saturday night in a drinking shop
She jumped upon the counter top
And fiddled till the dancers dropped,
She did, she did, she did,
Stomping upon the copper top
She did, did the widow of Brid.
And she was fond of fishing boats and all their beardy crew
And partial to a salty kiss or two.
And some of them would gruffly whisper, "Marry me and stay".
But blackbirds do their singing from a different bush each day.
She had a massive motorbike, she had, had the widow of Brid,
And so she could, when so she wished,
Ride back home early-morningish
With her hair in the air and smelling of fish,
She did, she did, she did,
And every time of a different fish,
She did, did the widow of Brid.
And though she did no harm the neighbours sniffed, as neighbours do,
And day by day a cankerous rancour grew.
And many a pair of front-room curtains twitched and shook with rage,
For she was wild as blackbirds are and they were in a cage.
They came and broke her window panes, they did, of the widow of Brid,
Spat upon her cycle shed,
Dragged her out of her Sunday bed
And cropped her hair and shaved her head,
They did, they did, they did;
They chopped the hair and shaved the head,
They did, of the widow of Brid.
And when her sobs and hiccups stopped she tidied everywhere,
She cleaned the shed, she swept up all the hair.
Some few of them came back in shame to ask her would she stay,
But if you ever startle blackbirds, blackbirds go away.
She sold up house and bought a wig, a wig, did the widow of Brid,
And unrepenting, undeterred,
She thundered off to cause a stir
In poor old bloody Scarborough,
She did, she did, she did.
"Forget the spit and the window pane.
"Bugger Brid! I'm still the same.
"My hair will always grow again."
It did, it did, it did.
"My hair will always grow again."
It did, it did, did, did, on the widow of Brid.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Bet this doesn't make it on to "have your say"
Blah, blah, blah JD Witherspoons are banning smoking in their pubs, big hoo ha, much free publicity.
Debate on BBC website, usual breed of rabid anti-smokers and "never-drink-there-again" lot. Here's the question and my answer, bet it doesn't make their page:
Are you put off by the smoke in pubs? Do you think smoke-free pubs will increase numbers of customers? Do the government proposals go far enough?
Well, to answer the question (which seems to be unfashionable these days), no. Seeing as I smoke, smoke in pubs does not bother me.What exactly does the final part of the question refer to? The government could hardly go much further, short of introducing birching as a punishment for people who smoke near anyone and everyone else. Pubs do make more money from food than they do from beer. However, there are a great many private members clubs that don't serve food and would be greatful for the cash.Wouldn't it be ironic if the course of this legislation was to force smokers up and down the country to join their local rugby clubs just to be able to spark up over a pint.
Oh, and congratulations on not having the iCAN link pointing to the "substance abuse" section like you did last time.
By the way, where is the nearest Witherspoons pub? I can't remember ever seeing one.
Debate on BBC website, usual breed of rabid anti-smokers and "never-drink-there-again" lot. Here's the question and my answer, bet it doesn't make their page:
Are you put off by the smoke in pubs? Do you think smoke-free pubs will increase numbers of customers? Do the government proposals go far enough?
Well, to answer the question (which seems to be unfashionable these days), no. Seeing as I smoke, smoke in pubs does not bother me.What exactly does the final part of the question refer to? The government could hardly go much further, short of introducing birching as a punishment for people who smoke near anyone and everyone else. Pubs do make more money from food than they do from beer. However, there are a great many private members clubs that don't serve food and would be greatful for the cash.Wouldn't it be ironic if the course of this legislation was to force smokers up and down the country to join their local rugby clubs just to be able to spark up over a pint.
Oh, and congratulations on not having the iCAN link pointing to the "substance abuse" section like you did last time.
By the way, where is the nearest Witherspoons pub? I can't remember ever seeing one.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Evolution of the Hedgehog Autocatalytic Processing Mechanism
It's the time of year when all and sundry start applying for research grants, I've just spent the last 6 hours doing nothing more than ploughing through research applications looking for mistakes. The problem is that most mistakes tend to be ommisions.
So I've spent 6 hours of my life looking for things that aren't there, and the only way of spotting them is by knowing what should be there to look for and finding it isn't, unless of course it is and it's just plain wrong.
Still, I must look on the bright side, there is a light at the end of the tunnel (it's a train coming the other way). The deadline for things to be at one of the research councils is 5pm on Wednesday, so Thursday and Friday should be quite quiet. Unfortunately it means that today and tommorow, and especially Wednesday (when people suddenly decide that they want to apply) whil be utter nightmares.
Wait, I've just found out that England have won the test match by 77 runs, so life can't be all bad after all.
Thackery of the day
It Was Only a Gypsy
I am a handsome policeman. I am bold and versatile.
My wife is white and beautiful, with breasts of alabaster.
When I hurry home to her, she whispers with a smile,
"What did you do today, my big blue hero?"
"There was only a gypsy,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai.
"Up to no good. I did what I should:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by.
"But now I grow impatient to enjoy her juicy beauty,
I surge to the rising rhythms of those breasts of alabaster.
"No," she cries, "pray tell me what you did today on duty -
"Tell me more about this hairy gypsy!"
"It was only a gypsy,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai.
"Up to no good. I did what I should:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by."
"But tell me, pretty darling, will you tell me, in your turn,
"Who placed those fresh wild flowers in your breasts of alabaster?
"And when you smile, between your teeth, still wedged, do I discern
"A sprig of whisker from another's moustache?"
"It was only a gypsy", she sighed,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai,
"Up to no good. I did what I could:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by.
"It was only a gypsy boy,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai–ai-ai,
"Up to no good. I did what I could:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by.
Between her breasts a hedgerow nosegay,
In between her teeth a tell-tale whisker.
The house is full of clothes-pegs.
So I've spent 6 hours of my life looking for things that aren't there, and the only way of spotting them is by knowing what should be there to look for and finding it isn't, unless of course it is and it's just plain wrong.
Still, I must look on the bright side, there is a light at the end of the tunnel (it's a train coming the other way). The deadline for things to be at one of the research councils is 5pm on Wednesday, so Thursday and Friday should be quite quiet. Unfortunately it means that today and tommorow, and especially Wednesday (when people suddenly decide that they want to apply) whil be utter nightmares.
Wait, I've just found out that England have won the test match by 77 runs, so life can't be all bad after all.
Thackery of the day
It Was Only a Gypsy
I am a handsome policeman. I am bold and versatile.
My wife is white and beautiful, with breasts of alabaster.
When I hurry home to her, she whispers with a smile,
"What did you do today, my big blue hero?"
"There was only a gypsy,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai.
"Up to no good. I did what I should:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by.
"But now I grow impatient to enjoy her juicy beauty,
I surge to the rising rhythms of those breasts of alabaster.
"No," she cries, "pray tell me what you did today on duty -
"Tell me more about this hairy gypsy!"
"It was only a gypsy,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai.
"Up to no good. I did what I should:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by."
"But tell me, pretty darling, will you tell me, in your turn,
"Who placed those fresh wild flowers in your breasts of alabaster?
"And when you smile, between your teeth, still wedged, do I discern
"A sprig of whisker from another's moustache?"
"It was only a gypsy", she sighed,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai,
"Up to no good. I did what I could:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by.
"It was only a gypsy boy,
"A ragged, shaggy blackguard of a didecai–ai-ai,
"Up to no good. I did what I could:
"A little physical persuasion and he passed on by.
Between her breasts a hedgerow nosegay,
In between her teeth a tell-tale whisker.
The house is full of clothes-pegs.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Much Surreality
I've found this wonderful waste of time called Samorost, superbly surreal stuff.
Have a look...
http://nlp.fi.muni.cz/~xsvobod4/amanita/samorost/intro.html
Have a look...
http://nlp.fi.muni.cz/~xsvobod4/amanita/samorost/intro.html
