Grong Grong (Grong Grong)
I more-or-less on purpose failed to beetle down to #stokescroft (surely someone has (hash)tagged up some road-signage appropriately down there now?) for the Anarchist bookfair because I Do Not Do Waiting. Not for reasons of can't be mithered so much as 'fuck you I don't care for panic attacks'. And indeed waiting there was as a mob of art-speculators descended on the place for the purposes of bagging a cheap Banksy. Is anyone surprised that the posters started turning up on World-of-Spivs Ebay that very afternoon for £profit! ? I shall be jolly pleased if the rumours about more of the posters being available for cheap turn out to be true.
The 9k passed its MOT without hassle this time. I put that down to solid Swedish engineering and it being taken down to the same garage as last time by Justyn-the-Saab (who is absolutely the chap if you want your'n mending and you'm in the Bristle aerial) instead of JHR-the-punter.
As is usual, a medium-level throw-money-at-it problem meant I mostly just sat there and failed not to think about worst-case scenarios. I'm sure it's a jolly handy skill for planning vaguely resilient systems and/or playing at Disaster Recovery games, but as a way to run a life it's largely a waste of time. I wish it would fuck off or I could find the off-switch.
It's probably a life skill they taught all the other kids, like how to do bow-ties or work out where to go for lunch. Don't pretend it didn't happen; I'm on to you bastards.
By accident, I found myself (under a bucket, but there was nobody there except for some cement, so I went home wearing the wrong head) watching 'The shadow line' which I think has some of the strangest direction, design and sound I have thus far come across. A sequence of Ballardian rectilinear spaces are displayed wherein the actors portray a sequence of still lives. Meanwhile, the sound is strangely over-saturated. A scene seems to consist of a set of sentences, separated either by still-life poses or by anechoic silences that are themselves delineated by unnaturally loud sounds. The noise of a pencil being pulled from a tub of the things (who on earth has a tub of pencils these days?) is as loud as the alleged dialogue. The effect is somewhere between the Guinness 'Ploughman's lunch' advert and (what I am told are) the effects of good MDMA.
Lord. My writing is devolving into post teen Lisp-alike.
The 9k passed its MOT without hassle this time. I put that down to solid Swedish engineering and it being taken down to the same garage as last time by Justyn-the-Saab (who is absolutely the chap if you want your'n mending and you'm in the Bristle aerial) instead of JHR-the-punter.
As is usual, a medium-level throw-money-at-it problem meant I mostly just sat there and failed not to think about worst-case scenarios. I'm sure it's a jolly handy skill for planning vaguely resilient systems and/or playing at Disaster Recovery games, but as a way to run a life it's largely a waste of time. I wish it would fuck off or I could find the off-switch.
It's probably a life skill they taught all the other kids, like how to do bow-ties or work out where to go for lunch. Don't pretend it didn't happen; I'm on to you bastards.
By accident, I found myself (under a bucket, but there was nobody there except for some cement, so I went home wearing the wrong head) watching 'The shadow line' which I think has some of the strangest direction, design and sound I have thus far come across. A sequence of Ballardian rectilinear spaces are displayed wherein the actors portray a sequence of still lives. Meanwhile, the sound is strangely over-saturated. A scene seems to consist of a set of sentences, separated either by still-life poses or by anechoic silences that are themselves delineated by unnaturally loud sounds. The noise of a pencil being pulled from a tub of the things (who on earth has a tub of pencils these days?) is as loud as the alleged dialogue. The effect is somewhere between the Guinness 'Ploughman's lunch' advert and (what I am told are) the effects of good MDMA.
Lord. My writing is devolving into post teen Lisp-alike.