Bank holiday schmank holiday
Ah, the sound of an empty house.
Housemate S has had her sister, nephew and two nieces to stay since Thursday. Plus her Quiet Man. That makes for a pretty full house even if lines of communication are clear and things (who's doing what, who's in for dinner, etc) are discussed openly. And round here it's never that simple. Never underestimate the power of passivity.
M and I woke up on Sunday morning, looked at each other, thought 'well I'm not cooking breakfast for eight people', chucked some clothes on and hit the streets. There was a kind of teenage rebellion feeling to it, like trying to find a place to be together when you both live with your parents. We bought the papers, went to the pub for Sunday lunch, walked down strange footpaths in the rain, ended up in town looking for coffee and found ourselves in Modern Art Oxford.
Where we spend a good couple of hours in the cafe but also taking in Wherever I Am, one of the most moving exhibitions I've ever seen. Emily Jacir's Where We Come From (more info about it here) featured lots of places I have been... the view from the top of Mount Carmel brought tears to my eyes. So it was an unexpectedly friendly and interesting Sunday, compared to the one I might have had if I'd stayed at home. It's all relative(s).
Anyway, they've gone now. And there were some good surreal moments, like baking a pineapple upside down cake at the request of someone who turned out not to like pineapple (so it became a pear upside down cake), and M finding his piano keys covered in corks.
joella
Monday, August 30, 2004
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Your password will expire in n days
Our office network (or more strictly speaking the administrator thereof) compels us to change our log-in password every four weeks. Fair enough, I suppose, though I don't really see the point.
But what bugs me is that two weeks ahead of time you start getting messages when you log in, saying 'your password will expire in 14 days, would you like to change it now?'
No, fuck off, leave me alone, why would I want to change my password two weeks early? That would mean I have to change it twice as often, right?
So I click 'No', and continue to click 'No' every morning until the one where I'm not allowed to log in *without* changing my password.
Which, like so many of the small procedural things imposed on the average office worker, irritates me beyond all reason. When I worked in a small organisation I was able to stick my breasts out at the IT guy and get him to give me a permanent password. A moment of shameful behaviour for four years of being able to type 'turtle' every morning without thinking about it seemed worth it at the time.
But here, that is just not possible. There are Rules.
So what I really want to know, is what is the optimum day to change my password?
Changing it as soon as it asks (8 characters, typed twice, about 15 seconds, another minute or so over the next few days as you type the old one by mistake), let's say 4 minutes and 96 keystrokes a month. Changing it at the last opportunity (click 'No' and say 'fuck *off*' up to thirteen times, then as above), let's say 2.5 minutes and 61 keystrokes a month.
Hmm. If you can bear the irritation, it clearly pays to drag the experience out. But you are more likely to kill one of your colleagues, or at least offend those who only swear at Christmas, if you do.
joella
Our office network (or more strictly speaking the administrator thereof) compels us to change our log-in password every four weeks. Fair enough, I suppose, though I don't really see the point.
But what bugs me is that two weeks ahead of time you start getting messages when you log in, saying 'your password will expire in 14 days, would you like to change it now?'
No, fuck off, leave me alone, why would I want to change my password two weeks early? That would mean I have to change it twice as often, right?
So I click 'No', and continue to click 'No' every morning until the one where I'm not allowed to log in *without* changing my password.
Which, like so many of the small procedural things imposed on the average office worker, irritates me beyond all reason. When I worked in a small organisation I was able to stick my breasts out at the IT guy and get him to give me a permanent password. A moment of shameful behaviour for four years of being able to type 'turtle' every morning without thinking about it seemed worth it at the time.
But here, that is just not possible. There are Rules.
So what I really want to know, is what is the optimum day to change my password?
Changing it as soon as it asks (8 characters, typed twice, about 15 seconds, another minute or so over the next few days as you type the old one by mistake), let's say 4 minutes and 96 keystrokes a month. Changing it at the last opportunity (click 'No' and say 'fuck *off*' up to thirteen times, then as above), let's say 2.5 minutes and 61 keystrokes a month.
Hmm. If you can bear the irritation, it clearly pays to drag the experience out. But you are more likely to kill one of your colleagues, or at least offend those who only swear at Christmas, if you do.
joella
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
You know you're middle class when...
You've had too much Sauvignon Blanc for a Tuesday and you're clearing up after your stepchildren have been round for dinner. On finding you've run out of dishwasher salt you think 'fuck it' and use Maldon sea salt crystals instead.
And it's not the first time you've done it.
I am so ashamed.
joella
You've had too much Sauvignon Blanc for a Tuesday and you're clearing up after your stepchildren have been round for dinner. On finding you've run out of dishwasher salt you think 'fuck it' and use Maldon sea salt crystals instead.
And it's not the first time you've done it.
I am so ashamed.
joella
It's all relative
I may be feeling lethargic and a bit blue, but imagine the forbearance I would need if I was carrying my mother on an 'all-India pilgrimage'.
"He is a nice son but I am getting tired", she says.
joella
I may be feeling lethargic and a bit blue, but imagine the forbearance I would need if I was carrying my mother on an 'all-India pilgrimage'.
"He is a nice son but I am getting tired", she says.
joella
Monday, August 23, 2004
Garden update
As Mick the builder seems to be telling Winona the mixer (left), it's always more complicated than it looks. And ye gods, our garden even *looks* complicated, so imagine how complicated it actually *is*. Not to say expensive, and I don't just mean in bandages. And, currently, lethal. Small children and drunk people beware. Oh, and muddy as you like.
However, progress is being made, and while MTB is unable to return in a feasible timescale thanks to hellish weather Up North, we have realised that C the carpenter isn't just a carpenter and will be round at some stage to finish the walls. Fantastic!
Meanwhile, M and I got out there again, and as well as Mick's wall (being built above left), which is only slightly falling down, we now have a pond, a flat surface on which to lay paving which we compacted our very own selves, and round poles which we dug holes for and mixed concrete for which already boast washing line (goodbye horrible rotary dryer!) and may one day boast plants and lights in jam jars. All pictured above right. Cool, huh?
joella
The weatherman says it's raining
And he's not wrong. In fact, it's looking like a terminal piss down situation pretty much all week.
But the great British public don't seem to mind too much. I don't either. It can rain as much as it wants unless I'm a) camping (last weekend) or b) continuing wildly overambitious garden restructuring (this weekend). Most of the time I've quite enjoyed sitting here with my lamp on drinking soothing rainy afternoon cups of white tea.
joella
And he's not wrong. In fact, it's looking like a terminal piss down situation pretty much all week.
But the great British public don't seem to mind too much. I don't either. It can rain as much as it wants unless I'm a) camping (last weekend) or b) continuing wildly overambitious garden restructuring (this weekend). Most of the time I've quite enjoyed sitting here with my lamp on drinking soothing rainy afternoon cups of white tea.
joella
Friday, August 20, 2004
Prestige. Pain. Lacrosse.
I thought it was one of those spam messages that deliberately include hundreds of randomly generated odd words. But no, these were chosen deliberately -- in fact to advertise a lacrosse kit franchise. Ad text ran: Lacrosse. The only sport where beating your opponent means with sticks.
Sorry guys, you're not really selling it to me as a concept. Anyway, surely lacrosse is only really a game for girls at boarding schools?
joella
I thought it was one of those spam messages that deliberately include hundreds of randomly generated odd words. But no, these were chosen deliberately -- in fact to advertise a lacrosse kit franchise. Ad text ran: Lacrosse. The only sport where beating your opponent means with sticks.
Sorry guys, you're not really selling it to me as a concept. Anyway, surely lacrosse is only really a game for girls at boarding schools?
joella
Sometimes you *do* need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows
This week, I am mostly ranting. To be more specific, I have been ranting about the fact that some skills and experience are more valued than others by those who make big management decisions. For example, you wouldn't let someone do a heart transplant who'd only read a book about it, would you? It would be doomed to failure.
And you wouldn't have someone project managing the building of a skyscraper who had never project managed the building of at least a fairly tall building, would you? It would be doomed to failure.
So why then have people managing large internet projects who have no technical knowledge or in-depth understanding of the internet? The immediate answer is because the people who appoint them have no technical knowledge or in-depth understanding of the internet, and that is because those who *do* have technical knowledge and in-depth understanding of the internet don't have those skills valued appropriately. Somehow, people think that marketing people can manage internet strategy. I think this is mental.
I have ten years' internet experience, I realised the other day. At the end of 1994 I wrote an article about the internet which said (among other things) "The Web seems -- so far anyway -- to be more a hip way of advertising than a source of information with real commercial value.".
That has of course changed -- those were the days when you could only use the internet in the morning, before the Americans got up and ate up all the bandwidth -- but you still find people thinking that usability is detail that can be left to developer types, and content is detail that can be left to editorial types. And that's bollocks. All right?
Just needed to get that off my chest.
joella
This week, I am mostly ranting. To be more specific, I have been ranting about the fact that some skills and experience are more valued than others by those who make big management decisions. For example, you wouldn't let someone do a heart transplant who'd only read a book about it, would you? It would be doomed to failure.
And you wouldn't have someone project managing the building of a skyscraper who had never project managed the building of at least a fairly tall building, would you? It would be doomed to failure.
So why then have people managing large internet projects who have no technical knowledge or in-depth understanding of the internet? The immediate answer is because the people who appoint them have no technical knowledge or in-depth understanding of the internet, and that is because those who *do* have technical knowledge and in-depth understanding of the internet don't have those skills valued appropriately. Somehow, people think that marketing people can manage internet strategy. I think this is mental.
I have ten years' internet experience, I realised the other day. At the end of 1994 I wrote an article about the internet which said (among other things) "The Web seems -- so far anyway -- to be more a hip way of advertising than a source of information with real commercial value.".
That has of course changed -- those were the days when you could only use the internet in the morning, before the Americans got up and ate up all the bandwidth -- but you still find people thinking that usability is detail that can be left to developer types, and content is detail that can be left to editorial types. And that's bollocks. All right?
Just needed to get that off my chest.
joella
Thursday, August 19, 2004
In praise of Wales
Back in early 80s, there was that sad advert from the Welsh Development Agency for bringing your business to Wales. It had a Welsh male voice choir singing a song about all the businesses that were thriving in the land, and ended with the phrase 'made in Wales'.
Not the Nine O'Clock News delivered its own version of the ad... in fact three versions. I remember them all as if they were yesterday. There was 'Laid in Wales' (Rhonwen, Dilys, Glenda etc), 'Failed in Wales' (a litany of light industrial disasters), and (my own personal favourite) 'Made from Whales'.
It's been a troubled land, devastated by the closure of the mines and not helped in the public image stakes by the fact that we have all had a very wet holiday there. But maybe the times they are a changing. The Gower peninsula is, frankly, drop dead beautiful, and it's beginning to feel like provincial might one day be cool again. It wasn't so long ago that suburbs were aspirational, and house prices may be turning gentrifiers into pioneers once more.
And you could do a hell of a lot worse than live half an hour from Llangennith:
The good part is, it's inaccessible, empty, cheap and friendly. Most of the people we saw were people who live in South Wales having a grand old time in South Wales. Which (as someone who grew up on the coast herself) is how it should be.
The bad part is that City boy surfers have discovered that the Gower is just as close as Cornwall and much cheaper. Which is probably good for the local economy, but bad for those of us without SUVs and mountains of disposable income.
Still. In the meantime, it's fab. I don't even *like* the great outdoors and I loved playing out this weekend.
joella
joella
Back in early 80s, there was that sad advert from the Welsh Development Agency for bringing your business to Wales. It had a Welsh male voice choir singing a song about all the businesses that were thriving in the land, and ended with the phrase 'made in Wales'.
Not the Nine O'Clock News delivered its own version of the ad... in fact three versions. I remember them all as if they were yesterday. There was 'Laid in Wales' (Rhonwen, Dilys, Glenda etc), 'Failed in Wales' (a litany of light industrial disasters), and (my own personal favourite) 'Made from Whales'.
It's been a troubled land, devastated by the closure of the mines and not helped in the public image stakes by the fact that we have all had a very wet holiday there. But maybe the times they are a changing. The Gower peninsula is, frankly, drop dead beautiful, and it's beginning to feel like provincial might one day be cool again. It wasn't so long ago that suburbs were aspirational, and house prices may be turning gentrifiers into pioneers once more.
And you could do a hell of a lot worse than live half an hour from Llangennith:
The good part is, it's inaccessible, empty, cheap and friendly. Most of the people we saw were people who live in South Wales having a grand old time in South Wales. Which (as someone who grew up on the coast herself) is how it should be.
The bad part is that City boy surfers have discovered that the Gower is just as close as Cornwall and much cheaper. Which is probably good for the local economy, but bad for those of us without SUVs and mountains of disposable income.
Still. In the meantime, it's fab. I don't even *like* the great outdoors and I loved playing out this weekend.
joella
joella
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Three sides to the great British summer
1. Flash floods in Cornwall. My favourite quote was from a man on the Today programme saying 'well we realised it was serious when we saw our fridge freezer float past'. That's the spirit.
2. Madame Tussauds introduces a Brad Pitt waxwork with a strokable chest and squeezable bum. I am not sure about this. What's next, a fuckable Kylie?
3. Billy Bragg is to rewrite 'I vow to thee my country', to be debuted at the Labour Party Conference. A little bit Elton, a little bit earnest, a little bit just plain excruciating. Probably.
joella
1. Flash floods in Cornwall. My favourite quote was from a man on the Today programme saying 'well we realised it was serious when we saw our fridge freezer float past'. That's the spirit.
2. Madame Tussauds introduces a Brad Pitt waxwork with a strokable chest and squeezable bum. I am not sure about this. What's next, a fuckable Kylie?
3. Billy Bragg is to rewrite 'I vow to thee my country', to be debuted at the Labour Party Conference. A little bit Elton, a little bit earnest, a little bit just plain excruciating. Probably.
joella
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
You are what you wear
Until yesterday, I had a lovely necklace. I got it in Israel when I was 10. It was dark brown shell type beads with some white and some gold, hard to describe but I loved it very much and have worn it sporadically for over 20 years.
I put it on yesterday morning and got the bus to work. About 10.30 I went to the toilet and when I came out I noticed in the mirror that it had gone. It could be anywhere, only it's not at work and it's not at home, so I think I have to accept that it has gone. I was sad.
I walked home mournfully from the bus stop, thinking of my shell necklace and all the things it had seen me through. I had been thinking of getting it re-strung, why didn't I?
Housemate S opened the door and rolled her eyes at me. Skipping round the kitchen was M, wearing a Gay Dad T-shirt and a pair of thermal long johns.
He wanted to be comfy, he said, after getting rain-soaked on his bicycle. Fair enough, said S, but he looks like the last chicken in the shop.
She had a point, but there's a lot to be said for comfy old things. And you miss them when they're gone.
joella
Until yesterday, I had a lovely necklace. I got it in Israel when I was 10. It was dark brown shell type beads with some white and some gold, hard to describe but I loved it very much and have worn it sporadically for over 20 years.
I put it on yesterday morning and got the bus to work. About 10.30 I went to the toilet and when I came out I noticed in the mirror that it had gone. It could be anywhere, only it's not at work and it's not at home, so I think I have to accept that it has gone. I was sad.
I walked home mournfully from the bus stop, thinking of my shell necklace and all the things it had seen me through. I had been thinking of getting it re-strung, why didn't I?
Housemate S opened the door and rolled her eyes at me. Skipping round the kitchen was M, wearing a Gay Dad T-shirt and a pair of thermal long johns.
He wanted to be comfy, he said, after getting rain-soaked on his bicycle. Fair enough, said S, but he looks like the last chicken in the shop.
She had a point, but there's a lot to be said for comfy old things. And you miss them when they're gone.
joella
Friday, August 13, 2004
Off to the beach
Yes, this weekend we are going Camping. In Wales. But they say the rain will stop soon. I have a big bag of dressings for the various leaking parts of me, and some of my dad's old shirts to keep the sun off my new skin. Timing could be better, let's put it that way.
But hey, the company will be good and I do like to be beside the seaside.
joella
Yes, this weekend we are going Camping. In Wales. But they say the rain will stop soon. I have a big bag of dressings for the various leaking parts of me, and some of my dad's old shirts to keep the sun off my new skin. Timing could be better, let's put it that way.
But hey, the company will be good and I do like to be beside the seaside.
joella
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Absolutely shitfaced
When you're bleedy and sad, absolutely shitfaced is the only way to be. You (one? I don't think I'm well educated enough to use 'one' but it would sound better) are truly drunk yet supremely benign -- a very rare combination, in fact only possible for half the drinking population on one night a month. And discount those who are pregnant, ain't bled yet or are post-menopause... so we are talking one chance in about 100 that any member of the population could be currently feeling like me. And only maybe half of them will be so that's like 1 in 200. Wow.
You 199 people are missing out. All is groovy.
joella
When you're bleedy and sad, absolutely shitfaced is the only way to be. You (one? I don't think I'm well educated enough to use 'one' but it would sound better) are truly drunk yet supremely benign -- a very rare combination, in fact only possible for half the drinking population on one night a month. And discount those who are pregnant, ain't bled yet or are post-menopause... so we are talking one chance in about 100 that any member of the population could be currently feeling like me. And only maybe half of them will be so that's like 1 in 200. Wow.
You 199 people are missing out. All is groovy.
joella
Oh dear
First law of shopping: never, but never, buy clothes -- especially shoes -- when you are premenstrual. You will wake up the next morning all bleedy and sad, shriek with horror and have to take them back.
Why? Because what you have bought will be a) red, b) shiny or, in the case of E's exemplary premenstrual trainer purchase, c) both.
I know this, and yet I went to the Fat Face sale on my way into work this morning. Now I think about it, they *did* have some red trousers, which I made a beeline for immediately, but they didn't have them in my size. Lord be praised.
But I did buy a top with a big flower on it. And some trousers. And now I daren't open the bag.
joella
First law of shopping: never, but never, buy clothes -- especially shoes -- when you are premenstrual. You will wake up the next morning all bleedy and sad, shriek with horror and have to take them back.
Why? Because what you have bought will be a) red, b) shiny or, in the case of E's exemplary premenstrual trainer purchase, c) both.
I know this, and yet I went to the Fat Face sale on my way into work this morning. Now I think about it, they *did* have some red trousers, which I made a beeline for immediately, but they didn't have them in my size. Lord be praised.
But I did buy a top with a big flower on it. And some trousers. And now I daren't open the bag.
joella
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Injury update
Over the last week I have peeled off the dressings on my right arm every night and seen something different from the night before.
From blisters full of clear stuff to blisters with bits of gloopy stuff to blister skins to the most amazing collection of scabs I have ever had in my life to bright pink shiny new skin. All at different rates -- I still have the last two in some fairly dramatic patterns, and I'm still keeping it covered up -- mostly because of the sun but also because otherwise I would just pick it all day and have to start all over again.
The ability of the human body to regenerate is amazing. And it is a clear demonstration of the power of a working immune system. I dread to think what would happen to an immuno-deficient person with cement burns.
Mick the builder is back in contact. Onwards!
joella
Over the last week I have peeled off the dressings on my right arm every night and seen something different from the night before.
From blisters full of clear stuff to blisters with bits of gloopy stuff to blister skins to the most amazing collection of scabs I have ever had in my life to bright pink shiny new skin. All at different rates -- I still have the last two in some fairly dramatic patterns, and I'm still keeping it covered up -- mostly because of the sun but also because otherwise I would just pick it all day and have to start all over again.
The ability of the human body to regenerate is amazing. And it is a clear demonstration of the power of a working immune system. I dread to think what would happen to an immuno-deficient person with cement burns.
Mick the builder is back in contact. Onwards!
joella
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
All tomorrow's pasties
Okay. I am thinking of going on a diet. With M. I don't believe in diets in the conventional (WeightWatchers, SlimFast, F-Plan, Atkins) sense, and possibly not in the GI sense either, but I am moving quite strongly in that direction.
Mainly, of course, because I am a bit of a dobber at the moment, and so is my boyfriend. Unprecedentedly on his part, as he comes from the school of scrawn - less so on mine, as I come from the lair of lard.
But - and I can't stress this enough - I don't want to be thin. I was built for comfort, I wasn't built for speed, and I am fine with that. I have only once in my life been thin, and that was after six months budget backpacking in Asia including a week on a drip in hospital, itself following ten days of keeping nothing down. I had no choice *but* to be thin, but my body put up a spirited fight nonetheless.
The world wants women to be thin, at least, the developed world does. And I do feel that, of course. But I have long and successfully maintained that it's better and healthier to fight the self-esteem battle and enjoy your food than to starve yourself or chuck up and be physically admired but miserable.
If you have appetites, it does come down to that. Not everyone does, but there are a lot of hungry miserable women out there who would be a bouncy 14-16 if they only let themselves.
But all that aside, I could do with losing a bit, and so could M. We would feel better about ourselves and each other, I think, and I might even get back into my lucky jeans (my lucky *pants* on the other hand have no elastic left so I could get into those even if I was the size of a house).
And what's appealing about the GI diet is that it's a different way of eating, good for energy levels, balancing of blood sugar and promotion of healthy bowels, heart and other parts. I shifted my eating habits quite drastically last year after I went to see the Bum Lady (much less wheat, much less dairy) and I have definitely got healthier as a result. This seems like a kind of natural progression: anything based around lots of veg can't be bad.
Can it?
joella
Okay. I am thinking of going on a diet. With M. I don't believe in diets in the conventional (WeightWatchers, SlimFast, F-Plan, Atkins) sense, and possibly not in the GI sense either, but I am moving quite strongly in that direction.
Mainly, of course, because I am a bit of a dobber at the moment, and so is my boyfriend. Unprecedentedly on his part, as he comes from the school of scrawn - less so on mine, as I come from the lair of lard.
But - and I can't stress this enough - I don't want to be thin. I was built for comfort, I wasn't built for speed, and I am fine with that. I have only once in my life been thin, and that was after six months budget backpacking in Asia including a week on a drip in hospital, itself following ten days of keeping nothing down. I had no choice *but* to be thin, but my body put up a spirited fight nonetheless.
The world wants women to be thin, at least, the developed world does. And I do feel that, of course. But I have long and successfully maintained that it's better and healthier to fight the self-esteem battle and enjoy your food than to starve yourself or chuck up and be physically admired but miserable.
If you have appetites, it does come down to that. Not everyone does, but there are a lot of hungry miserable women out there who would be a bouncy 14-16 if they only let themselves.
But all that aside, I could do with losing a bit, and so could M. We would feel better about ourselves and each other, I think, and I might even get back into my lucky jeans (my lucky *pants* on the other hand have no elastic left so I could get into those even if I was the size of a house).
And what's appealing about the GI diet is that it's a different way of eating, good for energy levels, balancing of blood sugar and promotion of healthy bowels, heart and other parts. I shifted my eating habits quite drastically last year after I went to see the Bum Lady (much less wheat, much less dairy) and I have definitely got healthier as a result. This seems like a kind of natural progression: anything based around lots of veg can't be bad.
Can it?
joella
Monday, August 09, 2004
The importance of being idle
I got a great deal of pleasure from an article in Saturday's Guardian about the value of doing nothing. I can't find it on the Guardian website, but then I haven't looked very hard.
I do nothing as often as possible. Sometimes it isn't in a good way, and I feel low and lazy and guilty. But often it is exactly what the doctor would (I think) order: as I have said to boyfriends past and present, I need my space.
This Sunday was a great example. I did nothing. I am not sure I even got dressed. It was too hot to go out and I am still bandaged anyway so the sun is no fun. Instead, I paid off a large chunk of my sleep debt and did lots of thinking, while occasionally wandering to and from the washing machine (some activities can be done while having your space -- I think they may vary from person to person, but washing is one of mine).
As I am a bit poorly I also read a very bad book, that housemate S had purchased at an airport but couldn't even read on holiday. I did learn that Puerto Rico was a US territory, and I didn't know that before, but I could have done without the author (thinly veiled as narrator) telling me that at least three times, pointing out that most people don't know. Still, it's a self-esteem booster, reading a bad book, sometimes.
On the down side, builder Mick son of Mick is incommunicado. This is worrying. But if I hadn't tried to get hold of him, I wouldn't know this. I should have listened to my inner sloth.
joella
I got a great deal of pleasure from an article in Saturday's Guardian about the value of doing nothing. I can't find it on the Guardian website, but then I haven't looked very hard.
I do nothing as often as possible. Sometimes it isn't in a good way, and I feel low and lazy and guilty. But often it is exactly what the doctor would (I think) order: as I have said to boyfriends past and present, I need my space.
This Sunday was a great example. I did nothing. I am not sure I even got dressed. It was too hot to go out and I am still bandaged anyway so the sun is no fun. Instead, I paid off a large chunk of my sleep debt and did lots of thinking, while occasionally wandering to and from the washing machine (some activities can be done while having your space -- I think they may vary from person to person, but washing is one of mine).
As I am a bit poorly I also read a very bad book, that housemate S had purchased at an airport but couldn't even read on holiday. I did learn that Puerto Rico was a US territory, and I didn't know that before, but I could have done without the author (thinly veiled as narrator) telling me that at least three times, pointing out that most people don't know. Still, it's a self-esteem booster, reading a bad book, sometimes.
On the down side, builder Mick son of Mick is incommunicado. This is worrying. But if I hadn't tried to get hold of him, I wouldn't know this. I should have listened to my inner sloth.
joella
Friday, August 06, 2004
Damp Friday thoughts
It's as warm as blood in my office. Warmer. I am beginning to digest my own internal organs. There's a sort-of-working fan pushing soupy air around, the window only opens a crack and the blinds are broken. It's like working in the 70s, but with less cheesecloth.
The only saving grace is my office-mate's little plug in water feature, a kind of Zen trickle over stones. It totally contravenes Health and Safety (unlike requiring people to work with sweat dripping into their eyes) but it makes it feel a little cooler, and also reminds me to go to the toilet regularly.
I couldn't go outside for lunch because I've got second degree burns already (duh!), so I am stuck here till I can squelch to the bus stop and let the weekend take over. I am going to take C's advice and spend it in the freezer section of Tesco's.
joella
It's as warm as blood in my office. Warmer. I am beginning to digest my own internal organs. There's a sort-of-working fan pushing soupy air around, the window only opens a crack and the blinds are broken. It's like working in the 70s, but with less cheesecloth.
The only saving grace is my office-mate's little plug in water feature, a kind of Zen trickle over stones. It totally contravenes Health and Safety (unlike requiring people to work with sweat dripping into their eyes) but it makes it feel a little cooler, and also reminds me to go to the toilet regularly.
I couldn't go outside for lunch because I've got second degree burns already (duh!), so I am stuck here till I can squelch to the bus stop and let the weekend take over. I am going to take C's advice and spend it in the freezer section of Tesco's.
joella
Thursday, August 05, 2004
The wonderful world of Womad
A bit late this -- thanks to injuries and a home PC which reboots for fun just as you are putting the finishing touches to your masterpiece, which (of course) you haven't saved.
But as is often the case (she says, determinedly looking on the bright side once more), the thing you end up with on the third attempt is often better than the thing you would have settled for first time round.
Anyway. Without further ado, here are some Womad Moments.
Left-right, top-bottom
1. joella in big shades lying by the river
2. glow bracelets
3. festival pint
4. M and anonymous girl in amazing blue-pink coordination outside Manic Organic
5. Golden Pride Children's Choir from Tanzania
6. flags by night
7. the ever-sumptuous Madras Cafe
8. David Byrne does Hannibal Lecter
9. steward watching over us from Golf tower
10. speaker fairies on the main stage
11. the shadow of Jim Moray on the Village Stage
I haven't posted the photos of camping, but will send them to those featured. Suffice it to say it was immeasurably enhanced this year by inflatable sofas courtesy of Ms Y and a 7th birthday party featuring a pinyada/gazebo combination.
We were loving it loving it loving it.
joella
A bit late this -- thanks to injuries and a home PC which reboots for fun just as you are putting the finishing touches to your masterpiece, which (of course) you haven't saved.
But as is often the case (she says, determinedly looking on the bright side once more), the thing you end up with on the third attempt is often better than the thing you would have settled for first time round.
Anyway. Without further ado, here are some Womad Moments.
Left-right, top-bottom
1. joella in big shades lying by the river
2. glow bracelets
3. festival pint
4. M and anonymous girl in amazing blue-pink coordination outside Manic Organic
5. Golden Pride Children's Choir from Tanzania
6. flags by night
7. the ever-sumptuous Madras Cafe
8. David Byrne does Hannibal Lecter
9. steward watching over us from Golf tower
10. speaker fairies on the main stage
11. the shadow of Jim Moray on the Village Stage
I haven't posted the photos of camping, but will send them to those featured. Suffice it to say it was immeasurably enhanced this year by inflatable sofas courtesy of Ms Y and a 7th birthday party featuring a pinyada/gazebo combination.
We were loving it loving it loving it.
joella
Monday, August 02, 2004
You live, you learn
OK, so I am well pissed off with my suppurating right hand (though the left is nearly better, apart from some splodgy red marks).
However, I have learnt a lot about treating burns, and in particular have discovered the fabulous Jelonet. What a great product. Ditto Tubigrip.
I have also learnt how to drain blisters with sterile needles (gross) and have used many of the components of the first aid kit I purchased in 1992 to go travelling. M has learnt how to wash a girl in the bath and how to get clever with dressings and micropore tape.
All useful life skills, no? Got to look on the bright side. And I can type again with all but two fingers... hooray!
joella
OK, so I am well pissed off with my suppurating right hand (though the left is nearly better, apart from some splodgy red marks).
However, I have learnt a lot about treating burns, and in particular have discovered the fabulous Jelonet. What a great product. Ditto Tubigrip.
I have also learnt how to drain blisters with sterile needles (gross) and have used many of the components of the first aid kit I purchased in 1992 to go travelling. M has learnt how to wash a girl in the bath and how to get clever with dressings and micropore tape.
All useful life skills, no? Got to look on the bright side. And I can type again with all but two fingers... hooray!
joella
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