On the way home, I heave to in a queue of traffic handy for Warmley, where there used to be a brickworks next to where there used to be a railway line. Now there is a park and a bike path, but the station survives as a caff. There is a furious revving and a screech of what should have been tyres, but which smelled to me more like fried clutch. I ( Read more... )

Odd new niches for not-rubbish computers turn up like unexpected bus-routes to timezones with disturbing physics. Someone might bleat on about it being a first-world problem, but I'd like to think we're just the fools with the money prototyping this stuff that'll be air-dropped on people who'd rather have food and/or guns at the behest of a mob of ( Read more... )

I can't remember where I left the ramblings about the state of $work. I know I could go and look, because everything one puts on the internet is now remembered for us wholesale, either by people trying to sell things or by people trying to prove that someone or other is engaging in Thoughtcrime, but that would rather spoil the narrative flow that I ( Read more... )

Poll A mob of bastards though we trust them with our happiness