Getting The Right Tech Is Not Easy

I confess - I'm really not very good at choosing technology.

When I bought what I thought would be the perfect ultraportable for me, it turned out to suck on a previously unprecedented scale. I replaced it with a fine machine that's too big to carry about - and my subsequent choice of ultraportable was, quite frankly, a little *too* ultraportable for me!

Basically, I've been struggling around to find the mobile devices that are best for me, so far without success.

I've ended up with not one but two laptops - one's too big for portability, and the other one is too small and underpowered - and the battery life, while not completely sucky, really isn't good enough for my purposes.

So the Tech Update plan is proceeding once again. Rather than spend more time trying to tweak what I've got, the decision has to be to ditch what doesn't meet my needs and replace multiple systems with a single one that *does*.

So - it's goodbye to this:


And this:


And, to raise additional funds, this:


And the money raised will go towards one of these:



The Big Plan is actually to add some 'extras' to the box, rather than simply get a stock one - so the end box will, I hope, have 4GB RAM, 320GB HDD and a 9-cell extended battery. This should ensure that even I have enough speed, storage and portability!

So far, both of the laptops are sold, and there's about 24 hours remaining on the Archos. It's got 12 watchers, so I'm reasonably confident that it's going to shift.

In other tech-related news, the long-awaited Phone Upgrade date approaches. As I have a strong desire for a particular phone, I popped onto the Carphone Warehouse website to make sure I could upgrade to it - and was surprised to find it wasn't on the available list.

Hmmm. < grab mobile...dial...hold...hold... >

One unfulfilling conversation with a salesdroid later, I was left in no doubt that the object of my telephonic desire would only be made available to me if I upgraded my contract to £45/month. However, the phone in question tempted me from the website, available to *new* users at a saliva-inducing £30/month!

Hmmm. < grab mobile...dial...hold...hold... >

"Hello, I'd like a contract termination date and a PAC code, please."

10 minutes after uttering those words, I had confirmation of my upgrade to one of these...




...with a £30/month contract offering me more minutes, double my current texts and unlimited calls to mobiles on the same network.Veiled threats of loss of custom FTW!

To ensure I get lots of connectivity goodness even when I don't have the laptopI'm also going to get one of these for it as well:


It's also 'geeky t-shirt week' - I'm waiting for my 'Insider' shirt and goodie bag from Qype and hopefully should also receive my first goodie bag from Startup Schwag. Photos will, of course, be posted when my goodies arrive.

Being a Geek - it's not all easy-peasy, you know.

A Quite Interesting Typographical Error....

There are some places one expects to see spelling errors and unproofed documents - Labour Party websites, for example.

However, when the site in question is intrinsically linked with one of the most erudite - and one of the funniest - men in Britain today, one would expect to see an immaculately crafted site, bulging with bons mots and proofread to perfection.

So I can only say, dear reader, that it was Quite Interesting to see the typos below on the webpage:



I shall leave it to you to locate the offending misspellings.

Email sent, and I shall be watching eagerly!

UPDATE:
I've received a response, corrections will be made. I wonder if I can parlay this into a freebie membership....*grin*

New Restaurant Review on 'Dungeekins Eatings'

Review of Pierre Victoire, Oxford - 2 May 2008. Find it here.

An Ode to The Local Elections

I never thought I'd see a day
As good as this,
"But Why?" you say,
"A war's still raging in Iraq,
Our wages taxed to Hell and back,
We're credit-crunched, the Pound is down,
There's violent drunks in every town,
Our hospitals will make us ill,
We can't afford our petrol bill,
Inflation's rising out of sight,
At school our kids can't read or write,
So we can't see a single way,
That you can say 'life's good' today".


Though all the things you say are true,
They've brought about a change in you,
Today, there's something in the air,
Now people really seemed to care,
You left your houses, man and youth,
and you went to a Polling Booth,
Be Proud! Because as one you rose,
And gave this Government a bloody nose,
Turnout's higher than years before,
You stood your ground,
You said "No More".


And all the things of which you spoke,
Are true
We're still beneath the yoke,
Of Government inept and dumb,
But now they've seen their time has come,
We won't be robbed or back your war,
We won't live like this any more,
You work for US - not us for you,
Your years of conning us are through!,
We want real action, not cliche,
We want a change that starts TODAY,
And so, upon a final note,
I'm Happy.
Because today,
Britain remembered how to VOTE.

New Review - myHotel Chelsea

New Review posted on Dungeekin's Eatings - 'Review of myHotel Chelsea'. Find it here.

On the Strange Case of the Trousers in the Night

Attend to me, Watson, for we need to share our prodigious skills to solve this baffling conundrum.

So the facts as we know them are these:

The Darling G and my good self entertained some 40 souls at our domicile on the Saturday eve, in celebration of the good lady's {classified} birthday.

While never raucous or uncouth, said festivities did involve our distinguished guests imbibing a not-insignificant quantity of 'the demon drink' - overall some 12 bottles of finest Champagne, 2 bottles of Pimms, 40 bottles of ale, 10 bottles of Viogner and a truly astonishing 30 bottles of Shiraz.

I wish to assure you, my dear Watson, that at no time did the gathering descend into ribaldry or debauchery. And yet, upon rising on the Sunday morn, we discovered a strange and as-yet unexplained phenomenon in our drawing room.

To wit, one pair of Next mens' trousers, black in hue, in the size of 34" about the waist and with a short, 29" inside leg measurement.

This case, my dear Watson, is far from elementary.

I can recall no male guest departing the celebrations untrousered, yet I feel certain I would have remembered such a display of incivility had it occurred. No debaggings took place, and to this date neither The Darling G nor myself have been approached by an attendee complaining of an unwarranted breeze about the nether regions.

So given the curious nature of this case, I propose that there is but one solution. I shall be taking an advertisement in the Times of London, detailing the abandoned garment and inviting whichever of our welcome guests is suffering a wardrobe malfunction to collect said items post-haste.

Watson - they're not YOURS, are they?

RIP Humphrey Lyttleton 1921-2008

The Mornington Crescent world was rocked this weekend by the tragic announcement of the death of one of the game's finest authorities, Mr Humphrey Lyttleton.

Though not a brilliant strategic player of The Game in his own right, Humphrey 'Humph' Lyttleton was one of the definitive authorities on the Rules, and probably the only Umpire who could control such brilliant players as Cryer, Brooke-Taylor, Garden and, of course, the late, great Grand-Master Rushton. His treatise on the little-known Tudor Court Rules and, of course, his publication of 'The Little Book of Mornington Crescent' are both required reading for novices and experienced players alike.

His assistant, the lovely Samantha, who so frequently sat on his left hand, has been left desolate by the loss of Humph. I personally took her to the Gramophone Library to try and cheer her up, but sadly even when I pulled out a rare 12-inch it was insufficient to lift her from her gloom. She's even taken to drink - the last time I saw her she was in the BBC bar with two male acquaintances, where I understand she downed a couple of stiff ones.

I approached one of his biggest fans for comment, and to get a deeper understanding of what the loss of Humph will mean to his literally tens of fans.

Mrs Trellis, of North Wales, said; "It's a real tragedy and a great loss, I don't know what to do really. I always thought he was brilliant on 'Newsnight'."

In honour of this great man, and this tragic loss, I would like to offer a short poem. It is designed to be accompanied in the traditional manner - Kazoo and Swanee Whistle - and if all else fails, Colin Sell.

On "I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue",
He gave panellists daft things to do,
Now we've Barry, and Graeme,
And Tim - but no Chairman,
Humph, it won't be the same without you.

Review: Petrus, 24 April 2008

(Also posted on Dungeekin's Eatings here.)

A trip to Petrus was part of my planned celebrations for The Darling G's xxth Birthday.

First thing to say is that it wasn't particularly easy to get a reservation - and even with over 4 weeks' notice, the only time they could fit us in was 2215 on the Thursday night, which was quite amazing really. That said, we did get called the day before and offered a 2115 seat, which was much more bearable!

As for a review - what can anyone say about this place that hasn't already been said?

We went for the 8-course 'Tasting Menu', which started with an astonishing Jerusalem Artichoke soup and then took us through Foie Gras, Turbot with Liquorice, Saddle of Venison and many more.

The food was just beautiful, however the most amazing thing about the restaurant wasn't the food - it was the service! It seemed that there were individual waiters not for each table, but for each activity - so one waiter would remove our plates, another our glasses, a third would bring the fresh wine glasses, the sommelier bring the next glass of wine, then a runner would appear with your dish on a tray, and he would wait for the Head Waiter, who would then place your plate in front of you with a theatrical flourish. It made for great entertainment.

One word of warning - normally when you have a tasting menu, there are 'matched wines' and you get a small amount of the Sommelier's recommended wine with each course. While this isn't something that is specifically offered at Petrus, they will happily match wines for you - however they give a full, large glass of each wine with each course, which meant that by dessert our tastebuds were more than a little blunted by the quantity of alcohol!

As we were Petrus virgins, we were thoughtfully given a copy of the Menu, signed by Marcus Wareing himself, which is a lovely touch and will no doubt bring back memories in the future.

All told, then, an absolutely stunning meal and experience - but equally stunning was the final bill, which came to a heart-stopping (if not sobering) £396 including service! My bank account will be feeling dinner at Petrus long after my stomach has forgotten it...

So - a beautiful place, wonderful food, fantastic service. But definitely, given the cost, a once-in-a-lifetime meal.

Petrus Restaurant
The Berkeley
Wilton Place
Knightsbridge
London
SW1X 7RL
Tel: 020 7235 1200

Review: Kitsons Restaurant, 26 April 2008

(Also posted on 'Dungeekin's Eatings) here.

This isn't the first time we've eaten at the excellent Kitsons Restaurant in Abingdon - but it is certainly the biggest table we've ever booked!

As the major part of The Darling G's xxth Birthday celebrations, we took over the entire restaurant, seating some 40 guests and a jazz band for three courses.

Organisation & Planning
We did our best to make things easy for Chris, the owner of Kitsons, by ensuring that we had a solid guest list as early as possible, and making sure everyone had already made their menu choices. To avoid mixups, we even had name-cards printed for the table plan which included that person's menu selections.

Sam, the (new) Manager, was well prepared and even went to the trouble to call us on the morning to make sure absolutely everything was still just how we wanted it. They also gave access to one of The Darling G's friends, so that the whole place was beautifully decorated.

Food & Service
There were plenty of service staff working, meaning everything went pretty smoothly on the night. There was a slight hiccup at the very start of service, but nothing major and after that the waiting team were right on form, and everyone got their food pretty quickly.

And what food it was!

The quality and presentation of Kitsons food is beyond reproach. We'd organised a limited range of main courses, to keep life easy for the kitchen, and everything came out beautifully cooked and exquisitely presented.

Best choices were the Wild Mushroom Pie and Foie Gras Parfait in the starters, and in the mains the Rump of Lamb was wildly popular, served with fondant potatoes and courgettes. Also popular was the 'Kitsons Chicken' - a signature dish of pan-fried breast, confit leg and poached thigh. Vegetarians were well served with a Pea and Asparagus Risotto, which was well-received by the few herbivores at the party.

Dessert-wise, we had a range including Chocolate Torte, Orange Parfait and the absolutely sublime Vanilla Cheesecake.

There were no complaints, not a single plate went back into the kitchen, and the service team made sure everyone was looked after, glasses topped up and additional drinks and coffee quickly and efficiently available.

Value
Given the sheer size of our party, with over 40 covers and an ongoing bar bill, I have to say that Kitsons gave us fantastic value as a whole.

The deal offered by Chris ensured everyone had three beautifully-prepared courses, coffee and service for £30 per head, and even the bar tab wasn't *too* astronomical - considering we went through 25 bottles of red and 10 of white!

Overall, taking into account the bar bill, liqueurs for those who could cope, and a hefty additional tip for the service team, the whole lot worked out at a fantastic £50 per head.

This is quite simply superb value for the quality and service we received on the night.

Overall
Kitsons has only been open in Abingdon a few months, and I sincerely hope it stays with us for a very long time to come.

The mix of service, quality and value at Kitsons is absolutely tremendous. The food, every time we have eaten there, has been simply superb and is worth every penny of the bill and more.

I can't recommend this restaurant strongly enough, and they deserve a solid following not just in Abingdon, but from the whole of Oxfordshire.

Kitsons Restaurant
First Floor
15 High Street
Abingdon
Oxon OX14 5BB

Tel: 01235 526966

On Standards of Education. . .

You may recall that I previously attacked the parlous state of British education in my Post entitled 'An Oath of Allegiance for our Modern Society'.

Nothing, however, brings it so starkly into perspective as this screenshot, taken from the NuLab website proudly launching their Local Election campaign:


They've since corrected their mistake - but huge props to Ben Locker for grabbing the screenshot, reproduced above. Well done that man!

This Is Not Just A Garage....

This is not just a sandwich...

...it's a delicious chicken & bacon Club, when you can get it because the sandwiches aren't delivered until after lunch.


This is not just a Cash Machine...

...it's a beautiful, full-colour fee-free ATM that works one day out of seven, and normally has a hand-lettered 'Out of Order' sign on it.

This is not just a cash till...

...this is a splendid counter of four tills, with only ONE actually manned over the lunchtime busy period. And with a superb, state-of-the-art PDQ card system with a 9600-baud dialup connection to the authentication server.

This is not just a queue...

...this is a queue of at least 2o people, standing waiting to be served at the unmanned tills, causing all the pumps to be backed up and all the parking spaces to be taken.

This is not just a bunch of ARSE garage...

This is the M&S Simply Food garage on the A4074 near Benson.

Marks & Spencer 'Simply Food' garages - exclusively screwing up everyone's lunchbreak.

To David Cameron - On The Use of Social Media

The letter below was sent to the office of David Cameron MP - I will update when (if) I receive a response.

Dear Mr Cameron

As a long-time Conservative voter (and an Oxfordshire resident), I was disappointed to note that your team are using Twitter (http://twitter.com/davidcameron) incorrectly, and in a way that is not helping your cause.

I believe a great deal of the current 'voter apathy' is caused by what can only be described as 'soundbite politics' - the compression of important topics into a banal cliche timed perfectly for the news. This has led to misinterpretation and disillusionment in the electorate, and is something that desperately needs to change for confidence to grow again.

Twitter is a superb medium for communication. It allows you to spread the word about your policies, using that 'soundbite' as a stepping stone to link to deeper commentary on your issue. However, where your use of social networking currently falls down is in the MISuse of it as a one-way, broadcast medium.

Social Media sites such as Twitter and Jaiku are not the same as television. They are the online equivalent of a room full of intelligent people, all having a conversation. By engaging with, and responding to, the people who respond to your comments on Twitter you will differentiate yourself from the other political entities using Social Media. You will be able to gauge opinion and gain positive feedback. You will discover that the people on there can engage with you and, over time, become advocates for your policies.

I would ask you to please talk to the team handling your Social Media presence, and ask them to work on following, and interacting with, those that are interested in politics and what you have to say.

For what it's worth, you already have my support and confidence as Leader, and should you wish to discuss this with me, I would be more than happy to chat with you or your team. I can also put you in touch with Social Media experts (one of whom is a Conservative Councillor) who will also be happy to assist.

I look forward to receiving your response.

Yours sincerely

Neil Simmons
http://twitter.com/dungeekin
http://dungeekin.blogspot.com

Reproducing Old Words

I've decided that I need to get some of my older work off dead trees, and onto the Web where it can actually be seen again.

To this end, I've set up a new Blog, and over the next few weeks will be reproducing some older articles, reviews and the like, which have been published or otherwise used by others.

As always, views and comments will be very welcome.

In Today's Politics, We Need A Hanging

"I think we're screwed, mate. Whoever you vote for, the government always gets in."

I've been saying this for a long time, but that comment from a Twitter Friend really got me thinking, and I think it's high time for an explanation.

We Need A Hanging.

Danie's comment really summed up the apathy and distate that the majority of people have for the electoral process - and for Government - these days. It's something that deeply saddens me.

I believe we're hugely lucky to have a democratic system. Yes, it's flawed - deeply so - but it's still democracy and come 2010, we will be able to exercise our good fortune and elect a new Government. We won't suffer violence or intimidation, (much) vote-rigging or the sight of our incumbent Administration using dirty tricks to self-perpetuate.

Yet opinion of politics has sunk to a massive low, and many are struck by the same apathy implicit within the quote above.

I believe that the main reason for this is the tragic loss of conviction politics - and I believe a Hanging is the only way to bring it back.

Conviction v Soundbite

In an era of 24-hour news channels, constant access to information and even services like Twitter, we have allowed ourselves to fall into a state where image and soundbite is more important than truth and integrity.

Before, we had people like Tony Benn, Norman Tebbit, Dennis Skinner even Margaret Thatcher. These people believed passionately in this country, and were prepared to stand up for their principles and beliefs to explain, cajole, browbeat and (shock horror) speak their minds both in Parliament and public. Whatever your political standpoint, these were people you could respect for their principle and honesty.

Tony Benn stood up against his own party and drove through engineering feats like the Hovercraft and the BT Tower. Norman Tebbit stood up and told the unemployed to 'get on their bikes'. Dennis Skinner fought his own party whenever they went against what he believed was right. Margaret Thatcher faced down the Unions (at the time strangling efficiency in the UK) and won.

You can disagree with their end results, with their politics or with their approach. You can't fault their passion and integrity in striving to achieve what they thought was best.

Now, our political figures are analysed for the way they look, and their pronouncements and debates are reduced to a level of banality that would shame a primary schoolchild. Decisions are made and announced not on principle, but on opinion poll. Not on fact, but focus group. Policies are changed as a knee-jerk reaction to the latest approval figures.

Once the trend was started by New Labour - the 'Presidential' looking Prime Minister, who actually reduced his exposure to Parliamentary Questions and instead led by Press Release and Spin Doctorate - the other parties swiftly followed suit, and we now have a tragic situation with a PM who is, if not sociopathic, certainly 'not fit for purpose; an apparently glib Tory Leader who will ever be unfairly hampered by his 'old-Etonian' mantle; and someone called Nick Clegg, who seems frequently to be invisible.

Of the three: one suffers from chronic, devastating indecision (which is not a good trait in a Prime Minister); one is appearing utterly seduced by the 'Politics of the Soundbite' and thus creates insufficient gravitas nor confidence; and one is so quiet as to not be heard. We hear more from Vince Cable than Nick Clegg.

With our economy being led into oblivion by the US and Global markets, a housing market on the edge of a precipice, war in the Middle East, a burgeoning Chinese tiger and rising personal debt, it's clear that NONE of these 'leaders' - or the parties they represent - are adequately equipped to lead us over the next decade.

We Need A Hanging

So it was with some concern that I viewed the most recent Sunday Times/YouGov opinion poll, which said the following:

Con 44%, Lab 28%, LD 17%

Uniform swing - 386 Con, 206 Lab, 29LD

Put simply, this poll estimated that if the trend of the poll was uniformly repeated in a General Election today, the Conservative Party would romp home outright winners with a majority of 151 seats in the House of Commons.

This would be, in my opinion, A Bad Thing.

A large majority, as we saw in 1979 and then again since 1997, gives the sitting Government no incentive to do the right thing. they have the power to act in accordance with the wishes only of their own voters. Unpopular or even bad laws (as we saw with the Poll Tax, for example) can be forced through not on the merits of the legislation, but on the power of the majority and a three-line-whip.

There are likely to be unpleasant choices to be made in the coming years. I believe it's likely that interest rates will have to rise. The attendant inflation is going to cause increased unemployment. The political parties are now so stuffed with incompetents, cronies and oddballs for whom the job of MP was 'indoor work with no heavy lifting' and an easy seat on a gravy train, that there is now no single party which is capable of taking ideology and focus groups out of the equation and just making things work.

A Hung Parliament would force a change to this. By ensuring that no one party had an overall majority, the decisions Parliament make that affect us all can no longer be made by spin doctors and focus groups. No law could be made, no legislation passed without real debate and genuine cross-bench support. This means that what happens is no longer based on ideology or soundbite, but on what is right for the Country.

In a stroke, we would remove the 'soundbite politics' of the post-1990 Parliament, and maybe - just maybe - get the Government we actually want and deserve.

We Need A Hanging, and I sincerely hope that in 2010 we get one.

I commend the idea to the House.

QR Codes

So as an experiment, I've made up a QR Code of the same information that's on my MooCard.

It looks like this:

It seems to work for me - but if anyone has a QR-Code reader and can test to make sure it's making sense, please give it a go and drop me a line if you see anything hinky.

The Worst Words in the World

They are, quite frankly, the worst three words in the world. The ones I dread seeing more than any other.

Some. Assembly. Required.

What really *bugs* me about this phrase is the word 'some'. 'Some' implies that the object under construction is at least partially assembled, and that a few tweaks and some nifty quick work with a screwdriver will produce a gleaming, completed device, allowing you to bask in the glow of your awesome DIY skillz.

This, however, is a triumph of hope over experience.

What 'Some Assembly Required' actually means is this:

• A bunch of disparate bits, all unlabeled.
• An instruction manual with the same number of steps as would be required to construct the Space Shuttle.
• Said manual drawn by a skilled artist who was, sadly, suffering either Parkinsons Disease or Delerium Tremens at the time he wrote it.
  
• The obligatory bag of screws, nuts and bolts, including several that aren't on the parts list and don't feature *anywhere* in the instruction manual.
  

So it was that with some trepidation, I approached the box containing the 'Adelaide 4-burner Gas Barbeque'. The sun was shining high in the sky as I opened the box, noting the dreaded words 'Some Assembly Required'.

This thing had over 100 separate parts, and a 40-step construction guide. I was doing well all the way to step 6 - when I realised that I'd got the (unmarked) legs in the wrong places, so had to dismantle the whole lot completely and start again from scratch.

I have a Potty Mouth, so you can imagine the Anglo-Saxon vernacular at this point. It even scared the cat.

I even had to wire up the bloody ignition circuit.

And I had to stop three times. Twice for rain, and once because hailstones were bouncing off my head. Not pleasant.

In the end, though, after 5 hours of fiddling, swearing and skinned knuckles, I stood back and admired my new 'man-cooker'...

Testing it was bloody scary, I have to say. Much sniffing and wet-checks for leaks, then there was no option but to turn the gas on, and press the Big Red Button.

I'm typing this, and I still have my eyebrows, so I guess that's a positive.

I'm now basking in the glow of my awesome DIY skillz, and a full-on test is scheduled for tonight, weather permitting.

So - if my most-dreaded words are 'Some Assembly Required', what are yours?

Well Done, San Francisco!

After the superb performance by British protesters when the Tainted Flame reached London, and the sterling efforts of our French brethren forcing the Charade to be cut short - all eyes last night were on the West Coast as the Relay headed for San Francisco.

Our colonial cousins did not disappoint.

Well done, folks - the fear of public protest meant that the 'Torch Relay' was, in fact, a giant game of Hide and Seek.

If this hasn't killed this grotesque publicity exercise on behalf of a barbaric regime, then I don't know what will. Perhaps, when a Tibetan protester is actually KILLED by the 'Boys in Blue', we might see some action from the politicians.

Next stop, Buenos Aires....

Shame on our Sportsmen and Leaders

In 1980 several countries, led by the US, participated in a boycott of the Moscow Olympics in protest at the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. South Africa was barred from the Olympics (and other sporting events) until 1992.

And yet here we are, in 2008, watching the Olympics being glorified by a nation with a horrendous record of human rights abuses.

Not just brutal repression in Tibet.

Executions. The country executed more than four times as many convicts as the rest of the world combined in 2005.

Forced abortion and coercive birth control.

Repression of spiritual and religious groups.

Censorship and repression of free speech and access to impartial information - and repression of those who stand up for it.

And yet, despite all this, we are greeted with the obscene image of grinning sportsmen and 'celebrities', flanked by a phalanx of stone-faced Chinese security guards, carrying this tainted flame across our capital.

We see our own police being used by this brutal regime to repress our own protests at this sick parade.

We hear nothing from our leaders, who refuse to condemn, and still participate in this farcical ceremony. Their limp excuse is that they 'didn't touch the flame' - as if that makes standing, grinning inanely and wringing their hands a la Uriah Heap as they welcome this symbol of repression and greed somehow acceptable to their electorate.

And the reason why nobody will condemn? Why nobody in power (with the notable exception of Nicola Sarkozy) will even THREATEN a boycott? MONEY. We didn't do as much business with the USSR and South Africa. Banning Cape apples was somewhat different to risking the loss of all those cheap, imported knock-off goods we are so reliant upon.

And I say to all those who took part in this parade - be you sportsman, celebrity or politician - save your lame lies and justifications. This flame should never have entered this country, and YOU should hang your heads in shame at having participated in, and perpetuated, this disgusting political charade.

And you'll all go to Beijing, and you'll all smile and shake the hands of the leaders of this vile regime.

Does the medal count matter more than the people of Tibet, or those in China like Hu Jia, who dream of freedom?

Does it bother you that the billion-dollar circus of the 2008 Olympics will simply enrich the regime further, and provide more money with which to repress, torture and murder those who disagree with Mao Zedong's teachings?

Every person who wore a t-shirt. Every person who waved a flag, set off a fire extinguisher, booed and protested has more honour and decency than every single individual who carried that flame COMBINED.

You are all guilty of as big a case of appeasement as those who attended the 1936 Summer Games when the tradition of the Olympic Torch was reinstated - incidentally by another abhorrent, genocidal regime.

Shame on all of you.

A Very Public Display of Affection....

I'm never normally given to public displays of affection. Normally, my personal limit extends merely to holding hands.

But tonight, as I sit here at an expectant keyboard, I'm wracked with the need to voice - publicly - just what it is I'm feeling.

There's a person who is currently some 3,950 miles away, doing her job. A job, I should add, that I'm immensely proud of her for doing.

This lady came into my life just over two years ago, at what was an extremely bad time for me emotionally. When all around me seemed black and I was doubting whether I would be the same man again. Just by her love for me (frequently unexpressed, but rarely, if ever, doubted) she brought out of that blackness a different, better man. One who still retained all his geeky tendencies, and yet had more of a taste for life, more confidence with people and a sense of joy and curiosity he thought he'd lost years before.

Thanks to this lady's support, I've restored friendships I thought lost forever. I discovered new friendships I never thought I could make. I career-changed to a job I love. All down to her influence.

It's currently Day Four of her absence from me, and she won't be back for another seven.

When she and I are apart - and with her work, that's frequent - the clock stops. I get up, I go to work, I come home - and like Neo, "night after night I sit at my computer". I put on the TV, trying to drown the silence that surrounds me with the lack of her presence on the sofa, in the bed, in my life. I count the minutes, ever aware of the time difference between where I am and wherever in the world she is, and the next brief window when she and I can speak.

She is "my north, my south, my east and west, my working week, my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song".

This is, as I said at the start, a rare (and very public) display of affection for a lady I adore. She doesn't know I've written this, and she won't be expecting this.

Darlin', you mean more to me than I could ever tell you. It's you and me against the world, and you and I are gonna win.

I can't wait till you come home.

xxx

I Have A Potty Mouth

Apparently.

The Darling G has asked me to moderate the somewhat colourful language I tend to use in my posts when referring to the UnClued or those members of the general population who have aroused my ire, so that she can let her family see my posts.

So, this means I'm no longer allowed to use the words f&%#, sh*$, b0ll*!^s and, of course, c*$t.

Hopefully, arse is still allowed - if it isn't, then that'll be a pain in the posterior.

I'll now have to go through my prior posts, editing the language and trying to find suitable euphemisms once I've run out of special characters to use!

In other news, I note that I've posted as much in the first quarter of this year as I did in the whole of 2007. Nice to have a readership again, and even better to have inspiration!

Please, Fire the Whole Freak Show

So, with tedious inevitability, 'The Apprentice' reappeared on our screens last night.

Channel 4 had something called 'The Man With No Face' which I saw the trailer for - and frankly, even that was less of a freak-show than the appalling cavalcade of wannabees and weirdicans parading themselves for the opportunity to fellate Sir Alan.

Even a cursory glance showed me that odd woman with the bright pink beret - (warning, Fashion Police, pull over); Raif (Ralph? Wraith? whatever) whose hair appeared to be carved from a single piece of finest mahogany, and Alex the straight-talking, straight-shooting Salesdroid with a chip on his shoulder so heavy it might have been fashioned from depleted uranium.

And of course, the speedily-fired Nicholas Denancyboy-Brown-Oliver St. John-Mollusc Smythe F'tang-F'tang-Olé-Biscuitbarrel.

A man so skilled, so talented, so brilliant that his greatest tragedy was achieving only a 'B' in his A-Level French. A pretentious pseud of such outlandish proportions it was hard to believe he wasn't a plant for some comedic relief.

A trained Barrister with an 'Outstanding' score in his law exam, he dazzled Sir Alan and ourselves with his verbal dexterity in the Boardroom - his sparkling ripostes and stunningly original use of 'like, you know, educated and. . . just rough sales types' was a guaranteed winner in the presence of a self-educated, self-made millionaire.

However, his sharply-honed debating skills were not the height of his talents, which clearly extended to his sartorial elegance.

I mean, what sort of genius intellect thinks, "I know, I'm entering a contest to impress Sir Alan 'no razors' Sugar. I know he's even more old-school than Eton. I know he pulls fewer punches than Tyson.

"I know, I'll impress him with mirrored shades, eyeshadow and pink nail varnish!". Yes, folks, you read that right. Pink. F&%#ing. Nail Varnish. In a job interview.

I reckon he should have been Fired with this:

Seriously though, what's the point of this program? I can understand the first series, when it seemed that people with genuine skills and talent were undergoing a gruelling interview process for a serious role. But now?

These InDUHviduals were defining themselves as Entrepreneurs, European Sales Managers and Barristers, to name but three. One contestant defined herself as 'the best salesperson in Europe'. FFS.

How conceited and arrogant do you have to be to think that people can't see through this self-serving, deluded pile of steaming manure?

I know successful entrepreneurs, sales managers and lawyers. Believe me, they all make enough money to laugh at the 'six-figure salary' on offer at the end of this freakshow.

If any one of these people were half as intelligent, skilled or competent as they believe themselves to be, they would be out there quietly making money for themselves. Instead, they're simply sad wannabe slebs looking for that elusive full-page spread in 'Hello' magazine.

These people consider themselves to be the best of the best - having seen their incredible ability to screw up the simple task of running a fish stall in a market, I think we can safely say that there's absolutely no start to their talents.

Yet the sad thing is, people still watch it. In my case, simply for material, and because it proves my ever-dropping opinions of humans as correct.

Inbox Zero!

My thanks to @chrisbrogan for his excellent article on achieving Inbox Zero.

I present, for your interest and edification, my own personal attempts to attain Inbox Zero:

Personal: Gmail


Work: Outlook Web Access


You know - it seems odd, but already I can see the benefit of having Inbox Zero.

It's easier to see what's new (well, DUH) but also it puts stuff that needs to be actioned in a much clearer space, and means that prioritising actions becomes simpler as well.

Thanks again, Chris!

Taking The Red Pill (Only It Was White)

Red or white, the end result was the same. But I should explain....

My back is a pain in the arse.

For those of you who read Zoe's excellent Blog, I wish to assure you there's no connection between our similar ailments. Honestly.

I'm completely locked up, with the lower part of my back completely immobile, and tendrils of pain shooting down my legs regularly. The GP's signed me off work for a week, and made noises about a referral for an MRI scan if things don't improve. He also prescribed me Diazepam tablets, with instructions to take up to three a day as required.

Have you ever taken Diazepam? It's...interesting. Interesting in an 'Oh $DEITY, I'm completely out of my gourd' type way.

I took my first tablet last night, just before bed. The label on the pack said 'Diazepam 2mg', and the little white pill looked so small and insignificant next to the 500mg Co-codamol tablet.

I laughed at its paltry dimensions and dosage, and said to The Darling G, "I don't know why I'm bothering - at this dosage it might as well be a placebo.". But down it went, and I lay down in the least-uncomfortable position I could find to try and get some sleep if possible.

My head was the first to go. Within minutes of taking the pill my head was swimming, and I completely lost the ability to think straight. Five minutes after that - well, I can't remember, as I was completely out of it.

I've now been up and about (after a fashion) for 90 minutes, and I can still feel the effects of the tiny, yet awesome, tablet I took almost 12 hours ago!

To paraphrase Ford Prefect, it's a sensation unpleasantly like being drunk. And if you don't know what's unpleasant about that, just ask a glass of water.

Anyway - as my head slowly clears, I'm going to try and stay moving during the day, and get a few things done that don't require heavy lifting or mental acrobatics.

More posts to come when I feel comfortable enough to use the PC again.

For F&*#'s Sake...On GP Appointments

I'm in pain.

This is not a case of 'Man-Flu' - my back's gone into spasm and I can neither stand, sit nor walk without pain.

Call my GP's Surgery.

"Hello. I'm in pain. Do you have any appointments available this afternoon please?".

"No, sorry", comes the reply. "We're fully booked".

"OK - in that case, please may I have an appointment for first thing tomorrow morning?"

"No. We don't release tomorrow's appointments until 0830 tomorrow morning. You'll need to call back then".

<>

So, let me get this straight.

I can't get an appointment THE DAY that I need one, and you won't let me book one for the next day either - unless I take part in the 'Hold For A Receptionist Lottery'?

Why on earth can't I simply book an appointment to see my GP?

Is this some grand, target-orientated conspiracy, or do doctors have the BOFH nature and just like their patients to have patience?

I don't know, but what I do know is I'm hurting, poorly-served and pissed-off at the pile of bureaucratic bo*&%$ks that is all that remains of our once-proud General Practice.

UPDATE
Once I got home, I called them again - and suddenly they DO have an appointment I can have today! Perhaps someone at the surgery read this Post.

I Am Happiness. Sort of.

UPDATE II
Back from the doctor. It's a suspected worn/damaged disc in my lower spine. I've been prescribed Diazepam and signed-off work for a week. If it's not better by then, it's off to the hospital for an MRI.

The Geek within me kinda wants an MRI - but I don't want the pain I'll have to go through to earn it!

What We Have Here, Is Failure To Communicate!

Communication, as we know, is an important thing.

However, while WE know that, our dear, esteemed Management seem to have missed the particular memo.

I'd like, therefore, to share with you two instances of supreme stupidity in Manglement communication, of differing types, for your entertainment and edification...

1. "Do What We *WANT*, Not What We Ask For!"

So. Yesterday we have a call logged by Manglement to the Security Team (me), and the request said thusly:

"Remove $COMPANY users from firewall."

Less than an hour later, this request is backed up by an email from said Mangler, saying "These need to be handled fairly swiftly (in other words they are 'easy wins')".

No problem. On to the firewall, and spend an enjoyable few minutes deleting accounts. I find that nuking accounts is always a pleasurable part of the day.

Once the deletions have been done, I fire off an email to the company concerned and the instigating Mangler, advising them of completion and providing a complete list of the deleted accounts and the remaining extant ones.

Nobody complains. Nobody. Not a word.

Fast forward to this morning, and a telephone call comes in from one of the recently-removed VPN users, complaining that they, and their cow-orkers, are unable to connect.

Well, DUH.

However, in the spirit of inter-departmental co-operation, I decide to give Manglement a quick call and let them know that someone Up There has neglected to tell anyone else what was about to happen.

"Oh, no!" is his terror-stricken response. "That wasn't supposed to happen - you were supposed to remove SURPLUS users! That's what we meant!".

"Well, the email and service request said you wanted all the users removed."

"I know, but that was a mistake - we didn't mean it! You'll have to fix it!".

< sigh >

Cue 4 hours of restoring users from backup configs, and calling round to check the lusers can all connect.

The fsking luser even tried to say it was OUR fault! No chance, pal - I've got the mails and the original call notes.

Clearly I missed the Cisco training module 'How to read between the lines of ignorant and incomplete Manglement requests'.

2. Did You Need To Know That?

An Email Arrives.

The Mangler in this case, wanted to know the IP address a Remote Luser had connected to their firewall FROM.

One quick check, and I fire off a response with the source IP, and suggest she verifies it by getting Remote Luser to verify it on whatismyip.com.

Quicker than a luser heading for the donuts, she dashes off her reply - and it's a reply that fills me with dread and resignation.

"Oh, no", she says. I didn't need that information - I put the wrong thing in the email. What I wanted to know was what else she connected to afterward, as she's introduced a worm onto our network. Sorry, should I have mentioned that?"

< Gnnnn... >

'Nuff said, really.

Well, as it turns out, we don't manage any of the devices that got affected, our firewalls don't allow traffic inbound from the client in question, so we're safe.

Tomorrow will be spent crafting the carefully-worded email explaining exactly why I don't care that Remote Luser infected them, and perhaps suggesting that next time they pick up an infection they might like to tell us about it somewhat quicker than today.

As for Remote Luser - well, there will be LARTage, of that you can be assured. The Mangler resposible for my earlier suffering will be made to pay as well, in new and interesting ways.

Mark my words, There Will Be A Reckoning.

And, I think, a few lessons in communicating properly.

A Song in Honour of the Twitter Experience

(With apologies to Otis Redding)

To the Tune of "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay![1]

Sitting in the mornin' sun
I'll be sittin' when the evening come
Watching the Tweets come in
Then refresh and read new ones again

I'm just sitting at my PC all day
Tryin' to find somethin' witty to say
Oooh, I'm just sitting at my PC all day
Wastin' time...

I logged on to my laptop
Checked the Blogs and read my mail
Wanted to check my Followers
But Twitter's down again - Epic Fail!

So I'm just gonna sit at my PC all day
Really must think of something clever to say
Ooo, I'm just sitting at my PC all day
Wastin' time...

Look like nothing's gonna change
I'll still Tweet and be inane
I'll just Blog the memes people tell me to do
Signal-to-Noise remains the same, yeah

Sittin' readin' Twitter at home
I don't bother calling friends on the phone
Two thousand Tweets or more
Can't be dull, mustn't become a bore

So, I'm just gonna sit at my PC all day
I just have nothing of interest to say
But, I'lll just sit at my PC all day
Wastin' time

[1]As if you hadn't worked that out.

On $LUSERMANAGERs and Precise Requests...

Hehehe.....a nice little one today - just enough fun for a quick rant, with a proper post about life in general later.

$LUSERMANAGER calls in, ranting, roaring and raging because (he says) a recent firewall change isn't working.

"You're useless", says he. "I asked you to give me telnet access to foo, and it's not pingable from my machine! Fix it NOW!"

At this juncture, you'll need to visualise the bottle, dummy and cute little mittens being flung across the room in abject, infantile frustration. The mental image will work even better if you put the baby in a three-piece suit.

Hmmm.....

"So", I say, ever the voice of reason. "You can't ping it? Have you tried Telnet itself?"

"What's the point of trying bloody Telnet if I can't ping it?"

"Just.....humour me.".

It's at this point I should point out that our firewall rules are specific. Very specific, in fact. Right down to blocking everything except specifically-stated and requested ports.

Like, in this case, ICMP. Which he didn't ask for. So he didn't get.

The silence on the phone tells me everything I need to know. He needn't say a word.

Amazingly (I can't imagine why) his tone changes at this point. From the Incredible Hulk to Uriah Heap in one giant bound. One minute ago he was all for having me hung, drawn and quartered - now he's being so bloody obsequious[1] that I could request a blowjob in the middle of the office - and I'd get it, probably with a smile thrown in.

"Oh, thanks, it's working now. Thanks so much for doing this, I really appreciate it."

Yeah, right. Until the next time you want something and chuck a tantrum my 2yo son would be embarrassed by.

Which, if I know you, will probably be tomorrow morning.

FOAD.

[1]This post has been brought to you by Merriam-Webster and Carseycritter

An Oath of Allegiance for our Modern Society

So, our esteemed LeaDUHship have decided schoolkids are to learn national pride, patriotism and citizenship, by swearing an Oath of Allegiance to HM The Queen.

Well, I for one think this is a fantastic idea - right up there with the Hindenburg and the Sinclair C5.

So, in this new spirit of patriotic co-operation, I've taken the trouble to design a NEW Oath of Allegiance revised and updated to meet modern educational and cultural standards, and to reflect the lives of many of our youth these days.

The Oaf of Ingerland

I, Tyler Brookyn Chav, do sware Alleej Aliyaaj al - 2 b real to the Queen. Respec, innit. But I ain't sure about the jug-eared freak.

I promiss 2 b proud of Brittan n 2 support the Ingland football team. I will sho my citizenship at all internationals by takin my shirt off n singin "2 World Wars and One World Cup", no matter who we r playin.

I will respec the culchur of Ingland - like Big Bruva n X-factor, innit. But not old stuff, coz its shit.

I will b real to the peeps in town and that, like when me y my m8s r hanging round the bus stop we won't chuck fings at them. Except that old c*%t from No. 42 coz he called the Plod just coz we was jumping on his car n that n he's probly a pedo anyway.

I wil b proud ov my commoo comyu comenit town an show respec so wil try an not spew all over the garden of the old folks home, or drop my chips when I'm givin Britney Chavette one up the arse in the kiddies playground.

All this I sware, on my bottle of White Lightning and in the sure n certain hope of a benefits giro when I leave school.

There - a thoroughly modern and relevant Oath Of Allegiance for today's Youth. I commend this Bill to the House.

Eight Random Things That I Am...

Chris Hambly started it, and as this meme lumbered on, I was tagged, unsurprisingly, by loudmouthman.

So - after much soul-searching, redrafts and puzzling, here are my own Eight Random Things About Me.

1. I Am A Military Genius
I served in the Armed Forces for seven years - started in the Royal Marines, then transferred into the Royal Navy, where I served as a Radio Operator on a Polaris submarine. My claim to fame, my moment of military brilliance, came at the start of an exercise, while we were waiting for the tug bringing senior officers on board the sub.

I dropped a 'Man Overboard' smoke flare.

To be precise, I dropped it in the Control Room of the submarine, where it subsequently went off filling said Control Room with thick purple smoke. This thick purple smoke caused the unconsciousness of my Commanding Officer, who was in the Control Room at the time. It also caused the scrambling of a rescue helicopter from RNAS Culdrose.

I was Not Popular.

2. I Am Brave in the Face of True Terror
OK, I admit it. I'm terrified of flying insects. This mostly applies to wasps, bees, and other nasty, stingy buzzy things - but if a butterfly gets too close it's taking a pretty major chance!

The worst thing about this was while I was married - I don't believe in transferrring my fears onto others, so was trying to tell my step-kids there was nothing to worry about...all while desperately trying not to run away screaming like a girl.

3. I Am A Broken Man
I've broken my nose a grand total of nine times.

I've also broken 4 ribs, every one of my fingers and toes at least once, both wrists, dislocated my right hip and compressed one vertebra (leaving me unabe to walk or feel my legs for a day).

In fact, when I was doing judo at National level, I once ended up in the same Casualty ward four times in eight weeks - once for my nose, once for torn ligaments in my right wrist, then a broken right wrist - and three weeks later, when I wasn't supposed to be training - a broken left wrist too...

4. I Am A Late-Entry Geek
Though I was first 'outed' as a Geek about eight years ago by Loudmouthman - he pointed out that doing my own OS installs and upgrading my mobile phone every six months was not normal behaviour - I've only been a professional Geek for 15 months.

Prior to that, for the previous ten years I'd been in Sales & Marketing, spending the last five years of that in IT Sales, where I discovered where all the people who are too dishonest to be Estate Agents end up!

After finally realising that I really, REALLY hated selling stuff and that I'd prefer to be fixing it, I took a first-line Helldesk role. Five months later I was promoted to the second line, and I'm happy there (normally), dealing with Cisco, Checkpoint and Stonegate firewalls and networking kit. I love my job.


5. I Am Nick Hornby
Yeah, right. I'd like his talent and his money, please.

I just love to write. I've written marketing blurbs, slogans, fiction, rants, political commentary and even the odd eulogy. Some of it even gets quite positive responses.

I used to find that I could only really write when I was depressed and angsty - and truth be told, some of my best work still comes out when I'm angry and let the venom flow - but these days I also write for pleasure because I'm in a good mood. And if it's not as good - tough, I'm not writing it for you, I'm writing it for me.

6. I Am Nick Robinson
Again - maybe not but I'd like his site traffic.

I've been into politics, and observing politics, since I was 8 years old.

My earliest memory of politics changing lives was the 1979 General Election. My parents let me stay up to watch the first counts come in - and as the excitement built and we started to see the upcoming landslide victory for the Conservatives, I saw how much that change meant to my parents.

Since then, like most people my political stance has varied with age, but these days I believe not in a particular party, but simply the need for conviction politics - people entering Parliament not for the expenses and the easy life, but out of a desire to do some form of GOOD in this country.

I used to blog exclusively - and pretty obsessively - about politics and the iniquities of our current Governments both here and in the US. These days I just watch the news, and only post when Gerry's finally had enough of me ranting at the TV.

7. I Am Fatal1ty
NOT.

I'm resoundingly crap at video games. I love them - but I'm rubbish.

When I played Halo deathmatch with Loudmouthman, the most frequent sound was 'Bam! Headshot!' - and my most frequent action was waiting to respawn.

And when I tried to play Americas Army online - I couldn't differentiate between my team-mates and the enemy - and shot more of my colleagues than the opposition. Once again, I was Not Popular.

8. I Am A Happy Man
There's little to add to that, really.

I am finally lucky enough to do a job that I love, and I wake up most mornings looking forward to my day.

I have a wonderful partner, who has done wonders to increase my confidence and my social circle - and who even understands, tolerates and supports my constant geekiness.

I have fantastic friends who've stuck by me through some very tough times, and have always been there for me.

I have a beautiful son who I adore, and I love spending time with him, though it's never enough.

I have a wonderful - if somewhat eccentric - family, who are friends as well as being parents and siblings.

So all that considered, I reckon I'm pretty fortunate - and I frequently have to pinch myself to make sure it's not all just a dream, and happening to someone else.

So - there you go, Eight Random Things about me.

Thanks for reading.

Just *HOW* small is the EeePC?

Since getting my Asus EeePC, everyone who's seen it has commented immediately on just how incredibly small it is.

It's something all the reviews mention as well - so I've taken a couple of shots that I think truly put this amazing little device into perspective.

First off, here's one of the EeePC atop Gerry's Dell Latitude D420 - at 12.1", it's also classed as a subnotebook:

That still doesn't fully evoke the sheer tinyness, so here's one with both devices open:

Finally, the grand picture that proves it. EeePC atop 12.1" D420 atop 15.4" Compaq:

Do you see it now? This thing is SMALL. Tiny. Miniscule.

Yet to me, it's kinda like a soldier ant - tiny, yet for its size unfeasibly powerful. I plan to post a full review in a week or so, once I've had some more time playing with it, but so far it's handled everything I've thrown at it - including some clumsy cock-ups - with nothing but aplomb. In fact, it's proved so useful that I'm planning to eBay the 15" Compaq lappy in the photo, as I haven't use it once since the day the diminutive Asus arrived.

Damn, it's small. But it's perfectly formed and, as I once mentioned on Twitter, this to me could be the device that finally makes sense of Linux on the desktop.

Stay tuned for a full review.

The Event - a visit from the Fuckup Fairy

Normally, when one of our lusers does something that's common-or-garden stupid, we laugh (at them), die a little inside at the plummeting IQ of the world, post a mildly amusing rant on our Blog or Usenet group of choice, and carry on.

But sometimes - just sometimes - a luser does something so dumb, so moronic, so spectacularly cretinous that simply finding the words for the rant becomes difficult.

When dealing with the full ramifications of The Event today, and the immediate aftermath, I thought tonight's post would be easy to write. My mind was awhirl with vitriolic comments - a cascade of inventive invective primed and ready to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting Web in all its diabolical fury. It hasn't ended up quite that way - simply because the sheer enormity of The Event was so staggering, so unbelievable that by the time I sat here at the PC, with its cursor winking expectantly, I found it hard to summon the words to describe it.

Still, nothing ventured and all that, so here we go...

Like many managed services providers, we host our client systems in large datacentres. The datacentre involved in The Event is a large one in London. You may have heard of it - however to protect the guilty and disguise it, I shall call it BlueCoach.

Two of our largest clients also have their backup devices in Bluecoach. These clients both have large tape stackers connected to backup management servers. Each client has their own rack in their own cage, and the cages themselves are situated some considerable distance apart. Each client performs daily, weekly and monthly backups, often totalling many Terabytes of data.

So - an email from BlueCoach arrives - the loading bay's locked on one of the tape stackers. I try and unlock it remotely - and it won't unlock. One quick check with our Guru later, we've established that the software is saying it's unlocked, while the hardware has decided to do its own thing, and is resolutely refusing to relinquish its tapes.

What do you expect - it's Slackup Exec running on 'Doze. AHS, ASS.

OK, no problem - we can drop the backup server, get the Tape Guy to powercycle the stacker, change the tapes, then he can restart the backup server from there. Simple.

Only the Tape Guy has gone home, and in his place is...well, I'm still lost for a description. Amoeba-man? A Neanderthal? A lobotomised three-toed Sloth? Gordon Brown? I don't know. But whatever it was, it sure as hell shouldn't be anywhere near a datacentre. Or computers. Or humans, for that matter.

But I digress. Anyway, I fire off an email to BlueCoach saying the following:

• I am going to remotely shut down the backup management server $foo-backup01;

• Please would you go to the tape library and physically power-off the library, then turn it back on, unlock it and change the tapes.

• Once you have done so, please restart the backup management server $foo-backup01 - it's a 1u server, in the same rack, and obviously its LEDs will be off.

Well...After three hours and two phone calls from the knuckle-dragging, subhuman fsckwit charged with carrying out the 'Intelligent Hands' request (probably the best oxymoron I've heard in years), he still hasn't found the server.

I get the feeling he'd be happier lolling around somewhere, learning how to find his arse with both hands, map and flashlight.

This pathetic pseudo-simian couldn't FIND server $foo-backup01, despite precise information even down to the rack name and its position in said rack. Finally, just as I'm losing the will to live (or, more accurately, losing the will to let HIM live), he sends me a triumphant email thusly:

• Request completed. The server was called $bar-backup01
  

At this moment, I discovered the Sphinctosecond - "that brief arse-tightening sensation which inevitably accompanies the realisation that Things Have Just Become Not What They Should Be".

He'd rebooted $bar-backup01.
...
A live, running backup server.
....
For our largest client.
.....
22 hours into a multi-terabyte full monthly backup that had been requested by their Auditors!

Even some 6 hours on, I'm still struggling to find any reasoning for what 'Homo Moronicus' has managed to achieve. He'd managed to go to completely the wrong rack, in completely the wrong cage - a significant distance from the correct one - and then reboot a live device when he'd been TOLD that the device he was looking for was powered down?

The mind boggles. Surely at some point, some under-utilised neuron must have given a brief fizzle and he'd have questioned the name of the server (suffice to say that my descriptions are much less detailed than our corporate naming protocol)?

Could he even READ?

What sort of bottom-feeding, scum sucking, microcephalic excuse for a proto-human would perform an act of such inconceivable imbecility? I appreciate that 'datacentre troll' isn't exactly the most intellectually challenging role - after all, you really only need one finger to turn the boxes off and on again - but come on, surely even a retarded chimp might have taken a brief second away from masturbation and dung-flinging to realise what he was about to do might need verification!

Well - the incident reports are filed, and I sincerely hope - in fact it is my most fervent wish that this thing, this creature, this floating blob of something unpleasant polluting the gene pool, receives a P45-shaped LART. Thanks for fucking up my day, dickhead. Don't let the door hit you in the brain-cell on the way out.

Uber-Rant Coming....

Those of you who follow my Twitter Feed will know that today I suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous idiocy.

140-character mini-rages don't really cut it, so I'm letting it brew properly and will vent tonight in such a manner that the term 'blast radius' will be applicable.

More soon....stay tuned to this channel!

Photos!

A couple of photos of the new toy....

First - the obligatory "on top of a laptop" shot - in this case my 15.4" widescreen Compaq:



now the 'comparison with something smaller that shows just how small the EeePC actually IS, shot - in this case in comparison to my Archos A504:


I have a plan for a *really* cool photo - the EeePC on top of Gerry's Dell, which is in itself a subnotebook - but that will have to wait until her return from the USA next week.

If I come up with any other cool things to photograph it against, I'll post them too...

It's HERE!!

the new $SHINY! toy arrived today - along with all the additional bits and bobs, so well done to the suppliers involved.

At this early stage (only 3 hours playtime, and I forgot to bring the box back home with me so neglected to bring the power cable!) I'm not forming any strong opinions.

Except. . .

DAMN, it's SMALL!!

As I don't have power, I was only able to spend about 90 minutes fiddling with it and surfing the Web - proper tweakage will have to wait till tomorrow. Photos and a review proper will follow in the next few days.

However, while I was shocked at the size of it - it's really incredibly tiny, even photos don't do it justice - so far I've found it pretty easy to use, and even the trackpad, though small, isn't overly awkward. I can't touch-type (yet), but the teensy little keys aren't a detriment to easy use of the laptop.

Though the 'Fisher-Price' simple GUI has simply GOT to go!

More to follow - watch this space....

Eee By Gum!

Forget AndLinux - I couldn't stand the anticipation, so I've done it...I've ordered my very own Asus EeePC.

I ordered the 2GB version in Black, for 2 reasons - one, because it was cheaper to get a 2GB and add on 12Gb of SD storage (one 8GB, one 4GB) than to buy a 4GB - and two, because Laptops Direct had the 2GB in stock and I didn't want to wait!

EBuyer are supplying the memory cards (and a wireless keyboard and mouse for the next project), so by the end of next week I'll be geeking out like mad!

The sad (or should that be sadder) thing about all this excitement is that I can even envisage the Blog photo....my EeePC, sat on top of Gerry's Dell subby, both sat on my Compaq laptop!

God, I love being a Geek.

AndLinux

I need a Linux box.

And I'm lazy, and can't face the hassle of yet more battling with wireless configuration on my laptop.

And, perhaps surprisingly, I don't detest Vista Home Premium.

So as an experiment, I've downloaded AndLinux, and when I have a few moments to spare in the next week, plan to install it.

It claims to provide Linux functionality - no, a complete KDE-based Linux distro - running inside Windows.

We shall see.

At the very least, it'll be something to play with until May, when I order my EeePC!

Sleep well, mate.

Wogan: 1999-2008.

My parents got Wogan when they retired ten years ago, bringing a tiny puppy back from the breeders, so small he could fit in the cup of my two hands. This tiny thing grew into 12-stones of gentle giant. I was there the day they brought him home, and from the first instant fell in love with the mutt, forming a bond that continued for me right up to today.

Over the years, Wogan never tired of loving his family. He was always excited to see us when we visited, wagging what was left of a close-docked tail so fast his entire rump shook - and he loved to give and receive affection, to the extent of trying to climb onto your lap if you gave him half a chance!

He was the gentlest animal I ever saw, looking after 8-week-old kittens, washing them and carrying them gingerly back to their basket whenever they ventured too far.

He's the only dog I've ever known who seemed to laugh when you fussed him or played with him - whether that was tickling his enormous tummy as he lay sprawled in the living room, or playing with his nemesis the garden hose. This 'humph-humph' sound would come out as he wriggled around, tongue lolling from his chops, every inch at peace with the world. Wogan loved his people, his surroundings and everything about his life.

He'd not been well for a while, with a lump on his leg that turned out to be an aggressive - and migratory - tumour. Within a short time he was in a great deal of pain.

So my parents called the vet, took him into the garden - and let him go to sleep in the only place he's ever known.

It hurts. Coming hard on the heels of the loss of Sasha, their boxer, just three weeks ago when she escaped the gardens and was hit by a car (and the fscker didn't even bother to stop).

Right now the tears are here for all of us who knew him. I know that putting him to sleep was the right decision. And given time, I'll be able to look back at all the good memories of the best, most loving family dog we had and smile about it.

Just - not today.

Motivation

Now I'm not normally one for reposting other people's stuff, but I saw this this morning, and felt obliged to spread it around a bit.

I won't repost the whole article - it's someone elses, and if you want to read it go and give the traffic to them. But the reason it caught me was this one:

5. Follow your passion, money will follow:
If you have passion and have fun doing your job, then I wouldn't consider it a job. You can focus on creating even more passion for that subject and money will eventually follow you. If you focus only on the money, it won't come because you're focused on the quantity of your work and not the quality.

This one really stuck with me - as I've actually taken that step and, in December 2006, gave up the sales work I've always done for a tech role - and it was, by far, the best decision I've ever made.

Right now, when I'm down with a stinking cold and when I've been on-call and repeatedly dragged out of bed for stupid, pointless calls that shouldn't have been escalated, it's hard to remember how good I felt on 7 December 2006 when I started as a Bob.

So thanks to DumbLittleMan.com for the timely reminder.

Miscellany

So the decorating at Dungeekin Towers is . . . well, it's proceeding.

I can't help but be delighted at the results of the building work, however. Now the new floor is completely laid, there's a real sense of space that hits you every time you walk into the new living room. I love it.

My sense of pleasure is compounded by the addition of this:



I've got the XBox attached to it, and am working on building a PC as a media player. We've ordered a new wood stand for the TV, but it's going to take a staggering 14 weeks for delivery - mainly, I believe, because given the price of it it's being hand-carved from a single tree by Patagonian virgins...

The cabinet-maker delivers his work the end of this month, and the new gas fire will be plumbed in about the same time. All is good.

In fact the sole downside of the whole thing is that it requires us to decorate not just the living room, but the rest of the ground floor - which forces us to continue into the stairwell, which means going up the stairs, which means doing the landing, which means...well, you get the picture.

I'm relishing the new working structure here at $WEMANAGESTUFF, as we've changed from 24/7 shifts to an on-call night structure. While it's never pleasurable to be called at some unearthly hour (usually for something that isn't urgent anyway, but the kids are learning slowly), it's certainly better than sitting awake all night staring at a screen, waiting for something to break!