A trip to the chemist turned into a trip to Bankside. It sometimes feels that photographs are one of the few things I have left that let me feel at least somewhat in control of life of late.
Click the above image to see the rest of the (admittedly, small…) set on Flickr.
I’m afraid I’ve been a little lax in my writing these past few months. In fact, I’ve been downright horrid at it. Despite producing content, I’ve not found anything I’ve penned quite up to snuff, which needless to say, is manifested in the lack of updates here. It seems poor that the first update I’ve posted is a snotty comment on yet-another-iPod from Apple.
In any case, this is a short, sweet update to let you know that I’m alive, and the rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated. As such, I’m still liable to the Student Loans Company, and no, you can’t have my things yet.
Since November, I’ve been working… and working some more. I finally pulled off a very painful migration for the team to a new ODM on a Xeon XServe (the documentation for which is still being written… I know, I know…) and since the last bugs were worked out in early/mid January, I’ve actually found time to sleep and even leave work on time. Needless to say, this has left me a little bored at times, but my health and Cardiologist both thank me.
December saw hours and hours and hours spent at work, past my salaried time, bashing my head against the server cabinet in some vain hope that my blood, offered as sacrifice, would resolve the AFP issues that had seemingly plagued my new install, but not the older 10.4.x G5 install. In reality, the issue had been there all along, but under the G5, performance was already so appallingly bad, that no one had a chance to notice the odd kernel panic causing everything to restart. The AFP lockups were so frequent under the old administration (a setup that I inherited, essentially overnight) that everyone was used to it by the time my new Intel went in. It wasn’t until after taking a break at the end of the year, was I able to come back with a fresh mind and look at everything with the analytical bent I had so far been lacking… as an aside, I still twitch at the mention of “beachballing…”
January saw the marriage of my best friend to his charming fianceé, where I stood as Best Man, and did my upmost to ensure the smooth running of the day. This culminated in my throwing myself out of an SUV and puling his then brand new Mother in Law from the path of a speeding car. Being European, she had neglected to remember that cars in the UK move in the other direction. As such, she’d not seen thought to check to her left as she stepped out into oncoming traffic… Needless to say, he still has said Mother in Law, and I learned that I can move rather quickly when needs must. I supposed it’s an indication that I should return to doing some sort of sensible sport and get myself back into shape (or at least, one other than “round”.)
In very early Feb, my little City was (metaphorically) shot in the knees when almost ten inches of snow fell, mostly overnight, causing London’s transport network to simply shut down. I was personally house-bound for three days as the snow that melted formed two inches of ice over everything capable of aiding movement (rails, tarmac, etc) and so venturing outside was an adventure in just how far you could get before falling on your backside because you’d forgotten to strap crampons to your boots.
My birthday was a quiet event (all things told) though the cake I brought to work was a resounding success. The post-cake-drinks were also a welcome change from the usual routine of going to the local Slug and Lettuce to listen to co-workers moan about being underpaid and overworked (which is in this climate, a rather snotty thing to say, I feel…) – the setting of a vodka bar, while not my usual choice, certainly made for a charming evening.
Which brings me neatly to March. Right now, this month has been rather spiffy. We’ve been granted new training resources at work, and projects that we’ve been working on have finally come to fruition. There’s new functionality to build into systems, new apps to test (note: always submit bug feedback; hell, all feedback. Feedback is good…) and stuff to learn. Challenges keep me on my toes. Love ‘em.
Other than that, I saw a very excellent opera based on The Office, written by my friend Anne for Comic Relief. You should all visit the site and sponsor her. And, last but not least, at the end of March, I’ll be setting off once more to the US, to visit friends in Chicago, Madison, and the surrounding areas. I’ll be staying through the Easter weekend, and should be back in London around the 14th. Hopefully, the trip will give me a little time to catch up on my written output. And perhaps a new story from the man in 41C.
The man from 41C stood on the platform, and looked up at the dirty orange LED display. The wind and drizzle made a light haze of colour around the sign, and turned the reading of “18:02 to East Grinstead” resemble something more akin to “18:85 to Bast Grlnstead”. The sky grew darker, and people poured out of the Tube station after the crush on the Victoria Line an hour before. 41C tucked the end of his scarf into the top of his overcoat, and walked slowly up the platform, bundled up as though in the depths of a Midwestern winter, with the top of his head and nose peeking out of the roll top of the woolen sweater. He reaches into his pocket as he pushes the button to open the door, and pulls out his mp3 playing phone ((an iPhone, but it sounds silly in the context of the story)), and wiggles the ends of the headphones into his ears as he walks into the carriage. He finds a seat, and kicks up his walking boot covered feet onto the hot air vent under the little table by the window. Bag by his side, he pulls out the newspaper for the day, and a bottle of water.
The train, late as always, pulls out of Victoria, and rumbles through the City and a snail’s pace, heading southwest from Victoria to Croydon and Clapham, passing the towers of Battersea. The working lights shine up the chimney stacks, and makes the dirty white paintwork burn brightly in the early evening rain. The phone bleeps softly in his ears, and he reads a message about runways and sheriffs. The man from 41C sits back and thinks of the girl on Flight AA 3676. He wonders how it’ll go, and where she’ll end up. And where, in a few months, he’ll be. 41C leans back and listens to the clatter of the carriage over the rails, and the rain on the windows. The train rolls on into the evening, and the dirty orange of the station fades away. It’s time for another journey.
I’ve no time now to go into the specifics, but right now, I’m in Studio One of AIR listening to a live set from KT Tunstall and Billy Bragg.
All I can say is that this is one of the best musical experiences of my life, ever. It’s right up there with Sigur Rós. More later.
He tore the wrapper, and wound down the window. The paper fluttered from his hand, and was sucked out into the cold air as the truck thundered along Interstate 8. One hand on the wheel, he wiped the other on his jeans.