July 31, 2002  

running through the jungle with a flare gun 30 july 2002

What we're listening to at the mo:

• Death in Vegas: The Contino Sessions. C'mon, that Aisha is a classic little piece of work. They've taken a slight leaf out of Moby's songbook, in that it's a nice mellow bit of rock-influenced electronica (guitars, Hammond organs, Bobby Gillespie, Iggy Pop), but there's some good stuff here nonetheless. The aforementioned Aisha is quite noteworthy.
• Orbital's contribution to the Back to Mine series. The basic premise of the series is that various DJ/electronic acts make up a mix CD of stuff they'd actually listen to themselves during an after-hours chill session. The result is a bit of a mish-mash - some Jethro Tull, some Severed Heads, some P J Harvey, some Lee Perry - but it's pretty interesting (and mainly even good). And you've got to love a CD where the CDDB entry has Tangerine Dream's track "Network Twenty Three" as Newtwork Twenty Three.

Whoops, thunderstorm. We've just had a burst of lightning about half a mile from the office. Hope we've got a UPS.

The rain should be good for the frogs, anyway. The garden's been progressively baked for about the last fortnight, and I've taken to watering the herb garden in the evening mainly as a way of helping keep the frogs alive. We've got about three or four frogs living in the garden. They tend to lurk close to the house, as there's some good plants that keep moisture underneath them. Of an evening, I'll be out watering the carnivores and a small green form will leap out from underneath one of the pots of heather, making a beeline for safety of the bushes. I think they've been feeling the heat, so I've been watering the bushes where they lurk. Just doing my part to preserve biodiversity. That, and I like frogs.

July 30, 2002  

well, that hurt 29 july 2002

Cracked off the London to Cambridge bike ride yesterday. Executive summary: it was fucking hot, but we made it. Total of about 4 1/2 hours in the saddle, average speed of 11.2mph, max speed of 32.2mph.

The long version takes a bit longer. This is strangely appropriate, as so did the ride itself.

The day before, we'd attended a barbecue at a mate's place. We arrived with the firm intention of leaving in a vaguely smug, sober manner at about 8:30pm and letting the debauchery work itself out without us. At about 11pm, fellow debauchees started to urge us to leave, as we had mentioned that we were getting up at 5:30am. We walked home, pausing only to make sure that a fellow inebriate wasn't about to walk under a car, and managed to get to bed by 12:30. Come 5:30am, the alarm went off and we limped out of bed feeling exceedingly rough. The entire bus ride down was spent attempting not to vomit. 80 minutes through Essex villages. Hooray.

We actually arrived at the starting line about 8:50am. The start line was bedlam. Everyone had arrived at about the same time, and the police were grouping riders into lots of about 100 riders. This, combined with the funnelling effect of getting everyone past the registration desk, meant that there was a total logjam of riders trying to get forward. We actually got on the road by about 9:30am. It was already getting warm.

The first couple of sections were quite good fun. Some minor hills, nice warm weather, the pack slowly separating out. The sheer diversity of bikes and riders was great. You had full-on cycling clubs in uniform next to old ladies on shopping bikes. Some lovely machines, too. I was particularly impressed by the lad who was wearing full USPS replica team kit - and riding this year's replica team bike. I didn't check if the socks were authentic, but I'm sure no detail would have been left untouched. Lots of Cannondales, lots of sexy Italian race bikes. A lot of probably inappropriate mountain bikes (one bloke was on a Cannondale Jekyll, which I thought was probably overkill for 54 miles on tarmac). Lycra-clad buttocks as far as the eye could see.

And as we racked the miles up, it got hotter. And more humid. Then hotter again. By 11am, we were reckoning it at about 30C. We drank a lot of water. The stops were about 8-10 miles apart, and we filled up our bottles at each stop. We drank, and we sweated. And it got hotter.

About 12, we broke for lunch and gutsed into the barbecue burgers, washed down with yet more water. We noticed that the group of guys sitting next to us (who looked to be Kiwis - bone carvings a go-go and some of them looked Maori) were drinking pints and passing a joint around. An innovative training approach. About 1pm, we saddled back up. Ten minutes out, we were passed (at speed) by the blokes who'd been smoking up. Bastards.

The first post-lunch leg was the worst. We'd all been drinking water like mad for the last three hours and sweating like pigs, and our electrolyte balances had gone to shit. Heather, being the lightest, felt it worst, and developed a splitting headache. We were all starting to get very lightheaded by the time we hit the next stop. Thank god, they were selling lucozade sports drink - in one of those rare cases of a sports drink a) being used for sporting purposes and b) doing its job in admirable style. The isotonic muck kicked in hard, and we did the last couple of stages feeling much better - though still in punishing heat.

Just after lunch, we started to pass people who were coming back. As in, they'd made it to Cambridge and had then turned around to bike back to London. The buggers were going for the century.

Heather was setting our pace for most of the race. Her bike is completely rigid - no front or rear suspension. This meant that whenever we got above about 18mph, the road buzz through her wrists got quite painful. Accordingly, we tended to take the downhill sections a bit slower than we could have (i.e. we actually bothered using our brakes). We made up for this by being quite tidy on the hills - grabbing a nice steady pace and sticking to it. A cute pattern developed: we'd hit a downhill, and all the people just behind us would pass us. The downhill would level out. We'd hit an uphill section, and we'd quite comfortably pass all the people who'd passed us on the previous downhill, some of whom had been reduced to getting off and pushing. Repeat until the next rest stop or a particularly long uphill section reduced the others to jelly.

As we clocked up the last couple of stages (some rather nasty climbs), we went through several small villages with very friendly inhabitants. People would actually be sitting in their front garden, in a deckchair, with a hose, asking the passing cyclists if they wanted a spray. Brilliant, and just what we needed. The last 20 miles passed in this pleasant fashion (except the five miles on the A1301 - less said the better), and we got to Cambridge in pretty good moods. Buggered, but happy.

It's a great day out, and it's a good feeling knowing that you can notch up 54 miles in a day (although my odo claims that I actually hit more like 59 including the ride to/from the start, etc). Good value all around. We're definitely doing it next year, that's for free.

And congratulations to Susy Pryde, for getting a silver in the Commonwealth Games mountainbiking event. Nice one.

One of my coworkers is planning on attending a talk entitled "Sweet Peas for Pleasure". After some enquiries, we determined that this is gardening, not watersports.

July 24, 2002  

for the beatniks 24 july 2002

Nice the house, eh? Go go David Millar. First British winner of a Tour stage for quite some time. I bet they're celebrating up in Scotland now... or should be. And, once more, Go Lance!

Although it may be hard to believe after a decade and a half of CEO worship, all the available evidence suggests that most chief executives have only a negligible impact on the performance of the companies they run. There are, of course, exceptions. But corporate performance depends far more on what industry a company is in, what proprietary advantages it has, and the general quality of its workforce, than it does on who's at the very top.

The Guardian [source]

Or: give me more money, you bastards.

Hey kids! Fed up with annoying townies blathering on about the countryside? Don't want interfering Guardian readers to ban foxhunting? Support the rural economy? Then you're probably looking at joining the Countryside Alliance. But have you read CorporateWatch's analysis of the Countryside Alliance? Nicely done, children, nicely done.

Today's comedy search request: "my neighbour is a crackwhore". I was considering submitting this to Disturbing Search Requests until I discovered that someone else had already done so. Someone certainly wants to find out more about their crackwhore neighbour. Oh, and "nutrasweet customer relationship management", which describes most British utility companies perfectly.

Heh. Paramedic bicycles are being introduced in the UK after a trial run discovered that a bloke on a bike could get to the scene of an accident faster than an ambulance 88% of the time. OK, so that statistic is for central London, but it's also being trialled in Norwich as well. Kind of like the equivalent of bicycle messengers, but with defibrillators. And lead by a former European BMX champion. Nice.

Guardian article on Koi carp. Fairly good summary of koi husbandry and hobbyists. Hell, if I had a spare £10,000 I'd build a decent pond in the back garden and get some koi. I guess it's a hangover from my childhood in Japan: I find koi extremely calming. I could watch them for hours. It's one of my minor niggles about NZ - koi are classified as noxious pests, and so the only ones you can find in NZ were imported in the 70s. Great beasties, though.

July 23, 2002  

on with the bubonic 22 july 2002

A nasty bout of flu has laid both Heather and me up for the day. It hit about lunchtime yesterday, and we've both been feeling like shit and producing bulk mucus ever since. Mind you, could be worse - one of my coworkers has some sort of stomach infection (I didn't enquire after all the details) that has laid her out for about a week. So we're home today, lying around in bed and groaning a lot. Feh.

Been an interesting week, though. Last Wednesday, as part of our exhaustive preparation regime for the upcoming London to Cambridge bike ride (it's for charity, kids! Sponsor us now!), we went out with a few people from work for a training run around the scenic Cambridgeshire countryside. The plan was to ride for about two hours or so, until we reached the Three Horseshoes pub in Madingley. At the pub, we'd meet the person who'd organised the ride, and we'd have a quiet drink and some dinner.

It didn't quite work out like that.

The first part of the ride went fine - we hooked up with the two other people who were doing the ride, and headed in a general Northerly direction. About forty-five minutes, and ten miles, later, we'd found Madingley. None of us knew where the pub was, but how big can a small Cambridgeshire village be? We hung a left along the High St, and it was just around the corner. Three Horseshoes, as promised. So far, the main problem was that we were 45 minutes early. No big deal - we headed up the hill a mile or two to the American Cemetary, then back. So now we're about fifteen minutes early, we head in and get a drink. Now, we're dressed for biking. I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt, carrying a backpack, and sweating like a pig. Everyone else is about the same. We know that the person we're meeting has reserved a table, which seems slightly odd for a country pub on a Wednesday night. When we get inside the pub, it turns out to be a very upmarket restaurant. Suits and ties everywhere. No sign of the person we're meeting. So we buy a round, and go sit outside to wait. Half an hour later, we're still waiting. One of the guys pulls out his mobile and rings the organiser. The conversation runs something like:

Bloke: We're at the pub. Are you here yet?
Organiser: Yup, we're sitting out the front.
Bloke: Really? Oh, OK. Where out the front?
Organiser: By the white builders' van.
Bloke: ...I can't see a builders' van. I can see a couple of Audis and a Porsche.
Organiser: Are you sure you're at the Three Horseshoes?
Bloke: Yes, I'm looking at the sign.
Organiser: Well, we're definitely at the Three Horsesh...

...at which point the guy's mobile runs out of credit.

After a considerable amount of wrangling, it turns out that the organiser has booked tables at the Three Horseshoes in Comberton, having been assured that it's right next to Madingley - why, the two villages practically kiss up against each other! The person who took her booking forgot to mention the intervening A14 motorway, and the fact that there is in fact a completely separate Three Horseshoes pub actually in Madingley. They were at one, we were at the other.

Annoyingly, by the time we got this all sorted out, it was too late to get food anywhere other than central Cambridge. Thus, a rather frantic (and starving) last-minute cycle ride later, we got some rather nice Italian food in town. Needless to say, this week's practice run will be a bit better planned.

Other bike stuff: critical mass poster from San Francisco, showing that those decadent Americans can do some things right. Anyone know where I can get prints of this online?

Well, the film festival is over for another year. The last day was pretty excellent, despite the fact that the flu was starting to hit us during the movies. Saw two movies: Avalon, the latest by Mamoru Oshii, and Spider, the new Cronenberg. Avalon was very trippy. Think Krzysztof Kieslowski remakes The Matrix. But slower. Visually stunning, good headtrip factor, and a lingering suspicion that it was all a huge VR game at the end. Lovely. Spider was quite a change - atypical Cronenberg, but extremely good for all that. Basic themes of narrative creation of self - the main character spends most of the movie telling himself the story of his early childhood, but you're left with serious doubts about how true it all is. An interesting twist on the normal Cronenberg theme of a sane(ish) person's descent into madness, the main character is mad at the start. This gives a slightly different perspective from normal. Both films well worth seeing.

A search on Amazon.com for 'Avalon' returns Beach Blanket Bingo as one of the possible results, while on Amazon.co.uk you are obviously looking for Butt Detective (synopsis - and stop me if you've heard this one before - 'The hunt for a particular butt.'). So close, so very close.

July 18, 2002  

for the beatniks 17 july 2002

That Tod Browning, eh? Freaks was good, despite the fact that a number of the cast members couldn't really act. Not quite as horrific now as it was originally (ah, how jaded we've all become). A story with heart. And kidneys.

If you compare it to WWF wrestling you never saw Hulk Hogan come out and batter someone in the first 2 minutes and keep on battering them for the next 10 minutes until he won. He always used to get stuck in first, lose a little bit of ground then come back hard at the end and do just enough to get the crowd behind him when he finished the opponent. I think [Lance Armstrong] is Hulk Hogan.

Marco Framboli, on BikeMagic [source]

Plausible. I think LA is trying not to win too obviously this year - he's been lambasted in the French press in previous years for basically stomping all over the opposition. I think he's trying to keep it interesting, by not turning up the heat until he really needs to, so that there's a lot more competition (and so that other riders have a chance at the yellow jersey in the meantime). Could be an interesting last week of the tour, I think.

July 16, 2002  

Unusual perspectives: Bruce LaBruce's guide to Islam, and how to shag muslim blokes.

 

gavagai 15 july 2002

Out of interest, I was doing a google search for my name (oh come on - everyone does it), and I'm chuffed to note that I've finally beaten my namesake. We're now being returned higher in the search results than the NZ parliamentarian Jack Elder. About bloody time - I used to get phone calls for him back in Wellington, too.

Since it's been absolutely caning it down for about a week, we thought we were pretty safe to spend most of Saturday locked into a dark room staring at flickering lights. But no! Saturday dawned as one of the nicest days so far this year. And thus it was with heavy hearts (but light feet) that we wombled into town to spend a total of six hours indoors. Fortunately, it was worth it. The standout film so far is Century Hotel, which was very nice indeed. The film was actually composed of about six separate stories, set in the same hotel room at different times in the twentieth century. The echoing and play between the (chronologically very distinct) plots was bloody well done, each plot had its own distinct visual and emotional tone, and Mia Kirschner got her gear off repeatedly. What higher recommendation can there be? My festival pick so far, certainly.

Other films at the festival: Revenger's Tragedy was also excellent. Nice post-apocalyptic Liverpool setting (an all-Liverpool production, apparantly), reasonable amount of bloodshed, Eddie Izzard as an evil heir. A few people in the post-viewing Q&A compared it to A Clockwork Orange, but I think that a more valid comparison is Derek Jarman's classic punk film Jubilee. Heck, even the costuming was similar (Jubilee had Adam Ant, Revenger's Tragedy had Eddie Izzard dressed as Adam Ant). After the film, the director (Alex Cox) did a stupendously annoying Q&A. In 45 minutes, we learned precisely two interesting things, and sat through (at my count) four extended diatribes about how great a place Liverpool was and why everyone should try and make movies there. The two useful things we learned was that the play was one of the first examples of black comedy in English (and that really came through in the movie), and that the soundtrack (by Chumbawumba) came about when the director got narked at being bounced by Radiohead's management and emailed Chumbawumba to see if they'd want to do it. They replied that afternoon, and lo. Worth it, though - the soundtrack was absolutely excellent, and I'd definitely buy it if it comes out.

No Such Thing was good, but didn't really thrill me (though Heather enjoyed it immensely). Hal Hartley's modern take on the Beauty and the Beast story, with a large dash of anti-media sentiment thrown in. Good, but not great, I thought.

Mile Zero was very intense, very compelling. Harrowing, really. A minute and exacting story of an obsessive estranged father, kidnapping his son and going on a road trip to the mountains to try and get away from the city. Very powerful movie, recommended.

AKA was also impressive, but somewhat twitchy. Autobiographical, it's the story of a young man being thrown out of the family home in Romford and ending up impersonating an upper-class twerp. The main point of interest about this film was that it's shown on a triple-split screen (three panels in a strip across the centre of the screen). Without this, it'd be a lot less interesting. Apparantly very inspired by Timecode from a few years back.

This does make me realise how much more into film NZ is than the UK, though. Wellington has at least four film festivals that I can think of off the top of my head (Film Festival, Fringe Film Festival, Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, Incredibly Strange Film Festival). Cambridge has one (albeit a very good one).

Still. Off to Freaks tomorrow night.

Having seen three films on Saturday night, we then wombled off to stand on Parker's Piece and go 'oooo' a lot. This was courtesy of the city council's firework display and a rather large fair. I took advantage of cheap chorizo (fun), and we watched pretty lights for about fifteen minutes. It was a lovely night, the lights were cool, and all was well. Right up until the point where we discovered that some little shit with a 5mm allan key had half-inched the forks off Martyn's bike. Yup, it's catching. Ever tried moving a bike missing the front forks? Less than scintillating.

Most of Sunday was spent sitting in the sun at the company summer party. The heat was intense, man - biking there was fairly punishing, pace the fact that it was only about 5k. Once we'd got there, it was pretty chill - sitting around in blazing sunshine, drinking lots of liquid (surprisingly little alcohol - not in that heat, man), occasionally having a stab at the barbie or going on the bouncy castle for a few minutes. A nice, mellow afternoon. Jim is actually extremely good with small children, and spent much of the afternoon being avuncular at various offspring (gettng on very well with the Timlets). And the evening was beautiful. Coming home along the river after seeing AKA was just lovely. A classic English country eve. Rocksteady.

Apparantly Michael Jackson's 9/11 charity single hasn't been released because the executive producer had 'gay porn biz' connections. Two points: would anyone have really noticed? And isn't an executive producer basically a fluffer anyway?

July 12, 2002  

forty days and forty nights 11 july 2002

It's been caning it down for the last two days. Absolutely, utterly pissing it down. Rain rain rain. And according to the BBC weather report, it's going to keep this up for the next week. Hooray. Looks like it won't be heard for us to stay indoors for the film festival, then. I may pass the time by attempting to grow gills, so I can get to work more easily.

Having found a search request for 'drunken frogs made out of cheese' in my referrer logs this morning, I've started submitting the more outlandish search requests to Disturbing Search Requests. Actually, one of the things I've really noticed from reading my search requests is that some of the search requests are fasinating. Since a lot of the search requests just recombine the strings present on a page, in a lot of cases the results can be subjects that I have not actually talked about, but which I'm interested in. It's like the famous Burroughs cut-ups - the result of random recombinations of text. But in this case, since the text has already been filtered by one brain (someone has to have come up with the search term and typed it into a search engine), there's a built-in filter that helps pitch the results towards something sensible/interesting. Examples:

• Henry Rollins workout routine
• orange gringo mountain bike reviews
• how can i build a 3 foot tall catapult
• soundtrack used on tour de france 2002 on eurosport tv
• cellphone jamming codes
• hegemonic femininity
• who's making the tea

See? There's something else in there apart from all the people trying to find photos of the Naturist Petanque team.

There's a potential web project in there: come up with a site containing only keywords for subjects you're interested in, then see what search results return it. You could use this as the basis for some fascinatingly unstructured research. Why do I keep hearing the name Michael Upton here?

I'd just like to go on record here as being firmly behind today's blaspheme-in on the steps on St Martyn's-in-the-Fields in central London. The fact that the UK still has blasphemy laws is an absurd anachronism; that they have been enforced in living memory is ridiculous. Heck, I'd go so far as to say that there should be a separation of church and state (ignore the Yanks shouting in the corner, it never did NZ any harm). And I just love the idea of a blaspheme-in. Heaven only knows what would happen if you tried to bring along something genuinely shocking.

July 09, 2002  

that time of year again 8 july 2002

The Cambridge Film Festival is rolling around again, and we've already got our tickets. Yup, we're uptight and a half. Actually, it's because half the films we wanted to see last time were sold out by the time we got around to trying to book, so this time we booked tickets before the festival started. Well before; it starts on Thursday, and we went in yesterday (Sunday) and bought £76 worth of tickets between the two of us. At that, we only just managed to get into the closing showing (UK premiere of Cronenberg's new movie Spider). Clearly we are not the only film buffs in Cambridge.

That said, the lineup looks well spanking this year. New films by Hal Hartley, Gus van Sant, David Cronenberg, Mamoru Ishii... the list goes on. What I'm particularly psyched about:

• The Revenger's Tragedy [imdb] - Alex Cox's version of the classic Elizabethan splattertragedy, written in 1607 by Cyril Tourneur. Blood! Betrayal! Eddie Izzard! Overall, looks very promising.
• Avalon [imdb] - new film by Mamoru Ishii (notable for Ghost in the Shell). Live action, set in Eastern Europe, looks amazing. English screenplay is by Neil Gaiman. From what I've heard, it sounds like the kind of cyberpunk movie that William Gibson wishes his books were made into.
• Freaks [imdb] - the legendary horror film. Made in 1932 by Tod Browning, this was banned in the UK for 30 years. Generally held to be a classic of the genre, and certainly one of the most notorious horror films ever. Being shown as a late-night double bill with another of Browning's films, Devil Doll.
• Spider [imdb] - the new Cronenberg movie. 'Nuff said.
• Century Hotel [imdb] - bit of a sleeper, but word on the street is good. A multiple act story, set in the same hotel room across decades. Canadian film, which is normally a good sign.

So don't expect to see much of us during daylight for the next week or two. The maximum number of movies we're seeing in a day is three, but we're going to be pretty busy throughout the whole period. I can't wait.

Oh, and a capsule summary of Minority Report: excellent greenhouse scenes (some beautiful Sarracenia and Nepenthes) stood out in a generally worthwhile movie. Beats the pants off AI, I'll say that.

July 06, 2002  

catch the stamen on that! 5 july 2002

Photos from our trip to Kew Gardens are available here. Rock steady!

Off to see Minority Report tonight. Pass the beer nuts.

July 05, 2002  

on the inflatable photos 4 july 2002

Attica Black by Blackalicious is this week's official theme song. Yeah kids. Tied with Cannonball by the Breeders, which I'm listening to courtesy of Lisa's blatant abuse of copyright. Ah, surf-bass alternorock back before it sold out. Personally I'm waiting with bated breath for the new Daphne and Celeste album.

"I actually like this,"says Kneer. "Architecturally, it's very vernacular. I would make some alterations - you could clad the inside with bear fur, for instance, to make it cosier - but I wouldn't fit a door, or a seat. Let 'em stand. Maybe a red lightbulb as well, for a twist."

The Guardian [source]

OK, maybe I'm being dense here, but what the fuck does vernacular mean in an architectural context?

So Saeco are out of the Tour this year. Dearie, dearie me. I'm still supporting USPS (go Lance!), but it'll be interesting to see how much of this year's field will be eliminated by the drug tests rather than the actual competition. My money's on three teams dropping out as a result of the dope tests. I think a 10% attrition rate sounds about right. I note with interest that Ullrich has tested positive for amphetamines despite already having dropped out of this year's Tour. Tch - showoff.

Standard what were you thinking moment: "marilyn manson on turbans" as a search term found this site. What on earth was that person looking for? Marilyn Manson's opinion on turbans, obviously, but why?

It's things like that that keep me awake at night.

Hey kids! Are you part of that elusive 6 - 18mths of age demographic? Wondering what all the 'cool' toddlers are into? Want to know how you can get some serious respec' at playgroup? Want to shock your parents before you can even walk? Well, here's what the (very) youth of today are listening to and what the well dressed young skinhead-cos-your-hair-hasn't-started-growing-yet is wearing.

Speaking of which - is it me, or is that backbeat to Eminem's Without Me rather reminiscent of the beat from that remix of Run DMC's It's Like That from a few years back? Dre only took a couple of years to spot that one.

Actually, what I've mainly been listening to recently is the reissue of Coldcut's volume in the Journeys by DJ series. The reissue was treated with extreme fanfare, with lots of DJ trainspotters drooling over the crisp new packaging. The back of the cardboard CD sleeve is covered in glowing reviews from the dance press - DJ Magazine, Mixmag, Melody Maker and er, The Guardian and The Idler. Now, I've been a Coldcut fan for a few years now, since the good old days of pumping Let Us Play on the IT helpdesk at Vic. I like these guys. But that many, that glowing reviews? Is it really, as the yanks say, all that? Having had a good few listens, I'd say that it's definitely giving the commentary a run for its money. Definitely one to grab if you see it.

July 01, 2002  

work harder, not smarter 1 july 2002

Well fans - I'm sure you're all wondering how my amazing bow tie adventures went. Happily, I managed to sort the damn thing out and it only looked vaguely mutant. Several of the mates we went to the ball with had also brought proper bow ties, and also couldn't tie the damn things. It was all most reassuring. Then came that long-anticipated moment, about 1am, when I decided to untie the bow and let it hang around my neck in a particularly louche manner. This works well if you're sitting around, drinking brandy and smoking a cigar. As was, I was getting up and getting funky with cheesy '90s dance music, so the damn thing kept bouncing around and threatening to fall off. Not wanting to lose £25's worth of silk, I stuffed it into a pocket - and thus completely obliviated the effect of having a proper tie in the first place. Ah well. That's what you get when you try to dress up like a posy bastard, I suppose.

The ball as a whole was pretty good. I'd like to start off by apologising to anyone who was offended by our drunken rendition of God Defend New Zealand over the top of the rather warbly rendition of Auld Lang Syne at the end of the night. The ball was actually fairly empty. The place looked to be running at about 50% capacity, which surprised me. Mind you, they turfed the undergrads out, and not many of the postgrads heard about the two-for-one tickets. Still, a good evening was had by all. I didn't actually get too drunk, due to a very nasty bout of heartburn at 12:30 which stopped me drinking for about an hour. I did run around a lot, eat a fair amount of food, neck a reasonable amount of champagne, and get fairly merry all up.

And then we worked it out the next day, with a relaxed cycle ride through the quaint East Anglian countryside. Specificallly, a 10-mile ride out to Willingham, home of Lisa. It was a pretty good day for a bike ride, so we saddled up about 6pm and rode off into the sunset. I love riding through the countryside around here during summer: it's bucolic and a half. Just outside of Cottenham, we were passed by a silver Ford Puma. Just after it passed us, the driver's side window popped open and a long arm came out and waved. Ha, thinks us, it's Chris From Work - or rather, Old Chris From Work rather than New Chris From Work - who lives in Cottenham. He pulls in a bit further up, we tell him that we're off to Lisa's, he borrows a mobile and blags an invite. Righty-ho then. So Chris drops his car off, hops on the old Ridgeback and away we go.

So we're heading from Cottenham to Willingham. About ten minutes out, Chris (in front - he knows the way) points up as he rides under a power line. Coming up behind him, I look up. There's a white bird standing on the line, looking slightly hunched over. "Why's he pointing out a hunchbacked seagull?" I wonder. As I come under the power line, the bird turns its head. It's a young barn owl. I'm so astonished by this, and so enthusiastic that Heather should see this, that I immediately grab and handful of brake. As I'm turning right (power lines are on a curve) at the time, I come off the bike at a reasonable speed. No worries, I roll with the fall and end up on my back in the road, pointing up at the owl so Heather will spot it and appreciate this cool sight. Heather, riding behind me, does not see the owl. She sees me ride around a rather flat and unimpeded corner, then suddenly brake like a madman, roll off the bike, and lie on my back waving my arms in the air. She naturally assumes that I'm injured, pulls up and starts asking me if I'm OK. I can only say "Owl! Owl!", whic she hears as "Ow! Ow!" The owl, meanwhile, gets annoyed at the noise and flies off. It took a while to explain everything. Cool owl though.

Saturday night drinking at Lisa's, crash there overnight, and repeat process in reverse. Sans owl, so I made it home without injury.

The project I'm working on at work has just gone to beta. Full release for version 1.0 is scheduled in a couple of months. I've just had Sales asking for copies of the 1.1 documentation to give to a prospective customer. I think they have special insulation around that part of the building so that they can stay completely isolated from the actual product they're selling.

Happy Canada Day, everyone!

bust a nut 28 june 2002

After all my rabbiting on about the foolishness of those plebs who choose to spurn the way of the Proper Bow Tie, I've had a bastard of a time for the last couple of days figuring out how the heck you actually tie one. The instructions that came with the tie were spectacularly unhelpful. Or rather, are very clear and helpful until the final step, at which point they lapse into "Tuck the resulting bow behind the original knot and pull tight", which has little relevance to the mess that you're actually staring at in the mirror. In context, this instruction is the bow tie equivalent of a deus ex machina: "and then you pull the bit that makes it all work and look nice". A bit of experimenting and some basic googling later, I think I've got the hang of it. Hopefully. Fingers crossed, kids!

You know you're working in Cambridge when... you walk into work carrying a suit bag, and one of your coworkers says "Oh, going to a ball tonight then?" Tch!

Heather's sister Ruth has been around the place recently. It's been fun having her around, as she is a very nice bouncy person. We took her out for dinner at a Thai resturant last night (Bangkok Palace on Green St), which was lovely. The meal got off to a slightly odd note as a wandering band of minstrels invaded the restaurant and played accordion and guitar loudly. Our first thought, that some idiot had arranged this as a surprise for their friend/partner, was proved false when the tambourinist shoved a cup under our noses. It's like we'd suddenly gone from being in a quite nice Thai restaurant in central Cambridge to sitting on the Paris metro with a bowl of prawn crackers and some Pinot Grigio. Odd. Eventually they became discouraged and left, though not without trying once more to get money out of us. It's the sort of thing you hear about happening in bad Italian restaurants in Guildford in the seventies.

Comparative boss time: two of the managers at work have had finger problems recently. One had a minor operation on one of his fingers. The other accidentally removed the last centimeter of his little finger with an electric planer (i.e. absolutely no chance of reattachment). Guess which one took a fortnight off, as opposed to two days? Impressive stuff.

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