Good morning. Up slightly earlier than normal this morning. Just got bored. Nicholas was channel-hopping this morning and lighted on "Smells like Teen Spirit", a deeply over-rated and over-played song. I said how weird it was to see Dave Grohl with hair. Nicholas enquired whether said Grohl was in Nirvana.
After this I went back to bed and ran through some of the games on Konami Arcade Advance. I must be on form today, cos I really kicked ass on Yie-ar-kung-fu!, getting to the penultimate character whereas I had not reached the halfway mark before then. It is a very hard game compared to most contemporary fighters. Older games always liked to throw you in at the deep end didn't they? You start with three lives - if you lose a round, you lose a life - simple. Virtua Fighter 4, which I highly recommend, gets insanely complicated and involved, but it does have a learning curve. I also figured out the controls for Time Pilot and Gyruss, which were both giving me problems, so that was nice. My frog-guiding abilities, however, were not so laudable.
Perhaps I should eat something and have a shower. Yes, that would be the wisest course.
Wednesday, 9 April 2003
Tuesday, 8 April 2003
Andy, he say:
Also:
Andy is great. I know of no other who waxes so lyrically with such regularity. On the other hand, he just criticised my blog for not being as "cerebral[ly...] religious" as James'. He should start a blog, and expound his theological views, and then I might think of something to say. For now I refer the reader to "The proverbs of Solomon the son of David, king of Israel; [...] To give subtilty to the simple, to the young man knowledge and discretion."
mood swings are what make this country great
Also:
anyway, my bed is calling to me in tones too dulcet to ignore
Andy is great. I know of no other who waxes so lyrically with such regularity. On the other hand, he just criticised my blog for not being as "cerebral[ly...] religious" as James'. He should start a blog, and expound his theological views, and then I might think of something to say. For now I refer the reader to "The proverbs of Solomon the son of David, king of Israel; [...] To give subtilty to the simple, to the young man knowledge and discretion."
Hi there, pop-pickers. A fairly standard day at work today. Only three left now - Huzzah. Owing to my working at a tedious job, I am, naturally, doing that thing where time is divided into portions, so that an eight-hour shift comes to be a series of mere minutes, or at least tends towards that result. For example, half an hour after my first break tomorrow, I should be halfway through the week. Halfway through the week? Well, by Jove, if I did the first half, I can dashed well do the second. And so on and so forth..
Ooh Pizza.
Where was I? Oh yes, illness. Dad is/was feeling poorly today. He's gone to bed now. In his own words it's "just a cold", but I am all too familiar with the wearisomeness of just-a-colds. Poor Dad. Matt, who I had a lift from this morning went home halfway through the day feeling ill just after eating something. Poor Matt. I felt ill yesterday, after he drove me into work, but his driving was much more respectable today. He passed his test (first time) last Tuesday, see. He's a nice guy. He spent some time in a young offender's institute. I forget why, if he did tell me. He told me another time that when he gets mad, he gets mad, so it was probably something to do with that, but he seems fine generally, as I say. Wow, this paragraph kinda loops back on itself, being loosely about institutions and illness. Last illness up is mental illness - on the minibus back, Shane and the driver had a long conversation about Broadmoor. Our driver plays some of the inmates of Broadmoor at table-tennis annually. I didn't quite catch how he got that gig, but I gather he is in some local team that they asked to come along. Shane was very inquisitive, asking about whether they had any cannibals there, whether or not it freaked him out and such-like.
I'm feeling a bit callous today. Hopefully this is a sign that I'm not as callous as all that really. But you know how it is. There's war in Iraq - did you hear about that? It's on the news and everything. And people die, and they sound like statistics, regardless of the ceremony which "our boys" get on returning and those aerial clips they show of military targets being destroyed with scrupulous accuracy. The Iraqi Information Minister's rather pathetic broadcasts even serve to diminish the notion that civilian casualties really are happening because of the ludicrous hyperbole of invaders being left as corpses at the city walls. And then there are the criminally insane, of whom we know because of Silence of the Lambs and Twelve Monkeys, who are forced to live, by an unfortunate quirk in their psychological make-up, lives entirely apart from the public and from hope of a cure. And you can only feel grief in the abstract, not so fully and authentically as God can and does.
Ooh Pizza.
Where was I? Oh yes, illness. Dad is/was feeling poorly today. He's gone to bed now. In his own words it's "just a cold", but I am all too familiar with the wearisomeness of just-a-colds. Poor Dad. Matt, who I had a lift from this morning went home halfway through the day feeling ill just after eating something. Poor Matt. I felt ill yesterday, after he drove me into work, but his driving was much more respectable today. He passed his test (first time) last Tuesday, see. He's a nice guy. He spent some time in a young offender's institute. I forget why, if he did tell me. He told me another time that when he gets mad, he gets mad, so it was probably something to do with that, but he seems fine generally, as I say. Wow, this paragraph kinda loops back on itself, being loosely about institutions and illness. Last illness up is mental illness - on the minibus back, Shane and the driver had a long conversation about Broadmoor. Our driver plays some of the inmates of Broadmoor at table-tennis annually. I didn't quite catch how he got that gig, but I gather he is in some local team that they asked to come along. Shane was very inquisitive, asking about whether they had any cannibals there, whether or not it freaked him out and such-like.
I'm feeling a bit callous today. Hopefully this is a sign that I'm not as callous as all that really. But you know how it is. There's war in Iraq - did you hear about that? It's on the news and everything. And people die, and they sound like statistics, regardless of the ceremony which "our boys" get on returning and those aerial clips they show of military targets being destroyed with scrupulous accuracy. The Iraqi Information Minister's rather pathetic broadcasts even serve to diminish the notion that civilian casualties really are happening because of the ludicrous hyperbole of invaders being left as corpses at the city walls. And then there are the criminally insane, of whom we know because of Silence of the Lambs and Twelve Monkeys, who are forced to live, by an unfortunate quirk in their psychological make-up, lives entirely apart from the public and from hope of a cure. And you can only feel grief in the abstract, not so fully and authentically as God can and does.
Monday, 7 April 2003
This week's Radio 3 Composer of the Week is/are actually two composers - Chavez and Revueltas, early twentieth-century Mexican nationalists. So I woke up to their compositions. Revueltas' Planos had a great opening. Richard from Workbase phoned up and left an answerphone message [sigh] to ask whether I was working today. Thankfully, this is the last time he should do this. He always asks me twice - without fail. He caught the weariness in my tone when I rang him back to clarify the matter. I believe I may have offended him slightly, but it's easy to get a weary tinge to your voice when you suspect that someone only listens to you the second time you tell them something.
A man has just come round and asked whether it would be okay to deposit dead leaves and stuff, for composting, in our driveway. The usual answer is "Yes, thanks.", but you can never be sure. I said yes, and they were duly left. Dad just came in so I told him. He didn't seem to object, so all is well.
A man has just come round and asked whether it would be okay to deposit dead leaves and stuff, for composting, in our driveway. The usual answer is "Yes, thanks.", but you can never be sure. I said yes, and they were duly left. Dad just came in so I told him. He didn't seem to object, so all is well.
Sunday, 6 April 2003
Hiya! Just back from the pub. Let's blog!
This afternoon, as both our GBAs had recharged, I engaged in a bit of multiplayer action with Nick. Chu Chu Rocket was first up, but I don't think I really like it as a two player, and Nick didn't seem too fussed, so we moved on to Frogger and Bomberman Tournament instead. I had the upper hand in these electrical amusements. For some reason, I feel quite comfortable gloating when I beat Nicholas, so I did. It must be because I feel confident of his ability to take a joke. Good man.
At 1930, Nick and I bombed out of our drive in the Micra to go to Ruth's, to pick her up for The Squirrel pub quiz. Ruth didn't know how to get there, and we hadn't even been there before, so we rolled along with Ruth's Dad's directions being mediated through Ruth. This was a bit tricky, as Ruth is not a natural navigator, but we got there in the end. Nicholas has formally requested that he be recognised as the first person to question my blog's title. I can't remember, but he said he mentioned it, so I bought him a pint this evening. John's statutory rights are not affected. He couldn't make up his mind what beer to have, and I recommended that, as in all pubs I go to, he just try one that he'd never had before. He opted for a Worthington's 1744. I think this was a mistake. In the toilets I saw a poster advertising all the real ales that this particular pub sold. They had all won awards with stupidly long names, except for the 1744, which merely sponsored the competition. The quiz itself was fun, but we did quite badly I thought. It was a quiz with a gimmick; like a cross between Blockbusters and Bingo, you had to get a line of questions right to win a round. We didn't come close to winning any of them, but never mind. I don't mind gimmicky quizzes, but to my mind, there's nothing wrong with merely running through an old-fashioned list of questions and answers.
Adrian has revealed that he should be turning up on either Friday or Saturday. Dad said there was a reason he was more likely to come on Saturday, but I wasn't paying as much attention as I should, so I couldn't say why for certain. Conceivably it involved a Wednesday game. It'll be nice to see him regardless of such tertiary issues.
G'night chaps and chappesses, I'm gonna read more Calvin and Hobbes.
This afternoon, as both our GBAs had recharged, I engaged in a bit of multiplayer action with Nick. Chu Chu Rocket was first up, but I don't think I really like it as a two player, and Nick didn't seem too fussed, so we moved on to Frogger and Bomberman Tournament instead. I had the upper hand in these electrical amusements. For some reason, I feel quite comfortable gloating when I beat Nicholas, so I did. It must be because I feel confident of his ability to take a joke. Good man.
At 1930, Nick and I bombed out of our drive in the Micra to go to Ruth's, to pick her up for The Squirrel pub quiz. Ruth didn't know how to get there, and we hadn't even been there before, so we rolled along with Ruth's Dad's directions being mediated through Ruth. This was a bit tricky, as Ruth is not a natural navigator, but we got there in the end. Nicholas has formally requested that he be recognised as the first person to question my blog's title. I can't remember, but he said he mentioned it, so I bought him a pint this evening. John's statutory rights are not affected. He couldn't make up his mind what beer to have, and I recommended that, as in all pubs I go to, he just try one that he'd never had before. He opted for a Worthington's 1744. I think this was a mistake. In the toilets I saw a poster advertising all the real ales that this particular pub sold. They had all won awards with stupidly long names, except for the 1744, which merely sponsored the competition. The quiz itself was fun, but we did quite badly I thought. It was a quiz with a gimmick; like a cross between Blockbusters and Bingo, you had to get a line of questions right to win a round. We didn't come close to winning any of them, but never mind. I don't mind gimmicky quizzes, but to my mind, there's nothing wrong with merely running through an old-fashioned list of questions and answers.
Adrian has revealed that he should be turning up on either Friday or Saturday. Dad said there was a reason he was more likely to come on Saturday, but I wasn't paying as much attention as I should, so I couldn't say why for certain. Conceivably it involved a Wednesday game. It'll be nice to see him regardless of such tertiary issues.
G'night chaps and chappesses, I'm gonna read more Calvin and Hobbes.
Five out of six in our nuclear family sing in choirs - to wit, in order of appearance*:
As you can see, we are each in our several choirs. Nick's choir is awesome. It was the runner up in the Sainsbury's Choir of the Year Competition. The winners, I recall, were an all-female, school-based choir that sang aesthetically unpleasant music in order to woo the judges, and it paid off, but most of the audience were completely bewildered, thinking that they clearly sounded horrible. Still, that's art for you. Dad wants Mum to join his choir, it being a nice thing that they can do together. I designed the website for my choir, and Adrian apparently may sort his one out. He can start with that title. Anyway, this leaves Neil out, so I asked him whether he might like to join my choir, as I thought this'd be an awesome idea, and provide him with something to do of a Thursday evening. He hasn't said he will, but he hasn't ruled it out. I'm rather hoping that he will. That would rule.
- Philip: Surrey Heath Choral Society
- Jill: Collingwood Singers
- Adrian: Manchester Univertities (sic)
Choir & Orchestra Society - Mark: Exeter University Choral Society
- Nick: Surrey Youth Choir
As you can see, we are each in our several choirs. Nick's choir is awesome. It was the runner up in the Sainsbury's Choir of the Year Competition. The winners, I recall, were an all-female, school-based choir that sang aesthetically unpleasant music in order to woo the judges, and it paid off, but most of the audience were completely bewildered, thinking that they clearly sounded horrible. Still, that's art for you. Dad wants Mum to join his choir, it being a nice thing that they can do together. I designed the website for my choir, and Adrian apparently may sort his one out. He can start with that title. Anyway, this leaves Neil out, so I asked him whether he might like to join my choir, as I thought this'd be an awesome idea, and provide him with something to do of a Thursday evening. He hasn't said he will, but he hasn't ruled it out. I'm rather hoping that he will. That would rule.
H-h-hello everybody! For reasons that I will blog, albeit back-to-front, as I've been a bit lax, I've just got back from Mass at St. Peter and St. John's down't road. Using two names for one church building seems excessive, don't you think? The priest, a Fr. Richard Biggerstaff by name, was at the door, so I notified him of my non-Catholic status so that I could receive a blessing without throwing the system into disarray. The service was the most high of the, I think, three Catholic churches that I've been to now. For a pleasing fragrance, incense smells a bit too much like someone's set a can of air freshener on fire. I'm all in favour of liturgy, and being brought up Anglican means there's not even much effort required to know the ins and outs of it, but sung liturgy always confuses me. This is a fact rather than a complaint. Fr. Richard was pulling no ecumenical punches in comparison to good ol' Fr. Paul, with his "Hey, shall we be nice to everybody?" approach to the chaplaincy masses. The homily was on the face of Christ and basically how one can see it in the Catholic church. He used the same trick that Dad did at Southwood - the kid's talk was the sermon, so it involved Q&As with kiddies:
RICHARD: Who's Jesus looking at in this picture?
RANDOM KID Us.
[Lather, rinse, repeat as needed]
From this he went on to say that you could "see" Christ in the Eucharist and in the priest at the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Confession). It was very in-your-face, which is as it should be, at least occasionally.
So after a bit of liturgical trial and error, and then a bit of wandering round investigating the available literature and such-like, I emerged out front. Fr. Richard collared me*, his exact words "Don't go." and remembered who I was from about three and a half years ago, he says it was, when he was the new priest in town, and he came and had dinner with us. He said he was available for chats and such-like, so I may do in my week off, such as it is.
RICHARD: Who's Jesus looking at in this picture?
RANDOM KID Us.
[Lather, rinse, repeat as needed]
From this he went on to say that you could "see" Christ in the Eucharist and in the priest at the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Confession). It was very in-your-face, which is as it should be, at least occasionally.
So after a bit of liturgical trial and error, and then a bit of wandering round investigating the available literature and such-like, I emerged out front. Fr. Richard collared me*, his exact words "Don't go." and remembered who I was from about three and a half years ago, he says it was, when he was the new priest in town, and he came and had dinner with us. He said he was available for chats and such-like, so I may do in my week off, such as it is.
Today is not shaping up to be the super-fun-day one always hopes one's days off will be...
There's the thing yesterday about the music, which on the plus side, freed me up to investigate the Catholic church over the way.
I suspected when I received my pay, that it, predictably, wasn't the right amount, but I couldn't be bothered to look at the payslip when it arrived yesterday, so I resolved to investigate this morning. I had not been underpaid, as I had hoped, because I had only been paid for four days* but because I was on, you guessed it, emergency tax. £223.75 Gross - £ 161.24 Nett. Sigh. At least Dad tells me I don't have to wait till the next tax tear to get it back, which would have sucked.
I also couldn't find any clean trousers this morning, so I'm wearing the same jeans as yesterday. Our laundry system is so configured that you don't know that you don't have any more clean clothes until you need them, unlike my efficient, dirty-festering-pile strategy at uni, where the reality is unavoidable. No-one's fault, but Mum swiftly set to rectify the situation. Thanks Mum.
There's also the fact that Blogger doesn't want to archive my posts anymore. I am already looking to abandon the sinking ship. I'm not sure what to use, naturally, but I'm considering this which is basically a blogger clone, but hard-disk based instead of on the interweb. I'm worried about backup issues, but I don't think I'm any safer with Blogger's records actually. I think I can transfer my Squawkbox comments with relative ease, which is nice.
There's the thing yesterday about the music, which on the plus side, freed me up to investigate the Catholic church over the way.
I suspected when I received my pay, that it, predictably, wasn't the right amount, but I couldn't be bothered to look at the payslip when it arrived yesterday, so I resolved to investigate this morning. I had not been underpaid, as I had hoped, because I had only been paid for four days* but because I was on, you guessed it, emergency tax. £223.75 Gross - £ 161.24 Nett. Sigh. At least Dad tells me I don't have to wait till the next tax tear to get it back, which would have sucked.
I also couldn't find any clean trousers this morning, so I'm wearing the same jeans as yesterday. Our laundry system is so configured that you don't know that you don't have any more clean clothes until you need them, unlike my efficient, dirty-festering-pile strategy at uni, where the reality is unavoidable. No-one's fault, but Mum swiftly set to rectify the situation. Thanks Mum.
There's also the fact that Blogger doesn't want to archive my posts anymore. I am already looking to abandon the sinking ship. I'm not sure what to use, naturally, but I'm considering this which is basically a blogger clone, but hard-disk based instead of on the interweb. I'm worried about backup issues, but I don't think I'm any safer with Blogger's records actually. I think I can transfer my Squawkbox comments with relative ease, which is nice.
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