hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
I woke up at 3am on Friday, mildly desperate for the bog-block at the other end of our field. The roof of the tent was an odd sort of mottled cream, bellowing back and forth in the wind. The brass chandelier wasn't moving though, which was odd. I tried to recall where I'd left my boots and which pair of trousers were closest to hand, so I could pile on enough clothing not to scare any other shambling campers making for the same destination. There was something still wrong with the tent roof though. It was too far away and too rectilinear.

Then I woke up a little more and remembered I was in a room at the Columbia Hotel and the bog-block was an avocado thing about three metres away from my head.

The unconscious theme of SHA2017 was random electric vehicles.
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)
Part of the way round my fairly regular lunchtime power-amble (It's like a walk, but it's accompanied by skronky music so as to drown out the idling shitboxes, both vehicular and human, that clutter the place up) the scrot-o-pod presented me with FUSE vs LFO, which was jolly nice of it. The sun was out and I had something of a Tyres moment.

If I ever get to write a screenplay with in-atmosphere AG vehicles, the instructions to the set/model designers will be 'All the vehicles should look and sound like Pro-Mod or Nascar.'

Earlier, it had played the German version of 'Neon Lights'.

I first came across that track on a luminous 12" that was sold to me by someone in the upper sixth. He had a haircut and may or may not have been in a punk band, so was treated as some ultra-cool arbiter of taste. That he would sell an oik like me a Kraftwerk record was clear evidence that Kraftwerk were completely over and everyone should buy Pigbag records. Crip Russell, who fancied himself a somewhat temporally-close arbiter of taste (not in a punk band), crowed at some length in the loud, confident and wrong manner that teenage boys of all ages can manage so well (see half of twitter) about it all. He was especially pleased that I had paid like a pound or something for a record that had sellotape on the sleeve and had been thrown down the school bus at some point. Clearly it was a terrible object, I had no idea about music (which at that point was probably true) and was probably a communist who hated fun. (It was the seventies. I was not yet in a punk band.)

At one point, everyone I knew was in some sort of unpopular beat combo. It was a source of regular astonishment in later years to meet people who'd never spent all their money on a drum-machine. What was wrong with them? Didn't they like music enough to want to make some of their own?

(I also like SF and computers, so I made my own. I don't quite understand people who don't have that sort of passion for a thing.)

Crip and haircut-the-sixformer had got their punk-rock semiotics the wrong way up. Which was not unexpected, given words like that weren't allowed in the North Cotswolds then.

The point of the sodding record was that it contained 'Neon Lights' by Kraftwerk, which even through the pops and scratches and poor quality luminous alleged-vinyl, is a transcendent sort of noise. The weird and good music is the stuff that stays in your head for years, even if you only hear a few bars on the Peel programme when you're nodding off.

In 1990, Peelie (although it could have been a pirate or Kiss-FM when they had the two hours of 'acid house' on a Wednesday evening) played a track called 'I believe' by Sensomilla. I wrote down the name in (oh god) my rather new micro-filofax and then life went a bit weird. Much later in the decade, I was at a record fair in Cheltenham town hall, digging through a box of random old techno records. I found that Sensomilla 12", couldn't remember how it went but did remember that it was just a lovely thing, which is why it's in the record box behind me. It only took a few years to find.

A couple of nights ago, the last ever PoI featured something that sounded like a minor-key Boards of Canada. I poked at the phone during an ad-break and found the wiki where people had collated all the music featured in each episode. That track was called 'Bunsen Burner' by some mob or chap called CUTS.

CUTS turns out to be a Bristol mob or chap and I think I am mildly annoyed that I've managed not to find out about them until two days ago.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
Migraine season has arrived with a bang (the migraines) and some whimpering (me), so the garden's getting more time than usual since that's all I'm fit for.

It's also that time of year when I remember with a start that I should be doing more outside things because there's more daylight to do them in and have a bit of a swear about having been looking the other way for the last few weeks. More or less like every other year for the past several.

The passage of time is a right bastard. The front parlour isn't much better, since it contains a flammable sofa and curtains last seen in 'Oh no it's Selwyn Froggett', and the kitchen is where dreams of escape go to wither and die.

On the other hand, I accidentally a vague sort of 'plot' for a story, so that's good.

You can also see the back wall of the garage for the first time in about a decade.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
Already appeared on FB )

The Jovesday people were back in force again this afternoon. Queueing for the bus at the wrong time like they were going to a theatre hidden behind the electric car chargers and city-bike stand on the edge of the car-park where Bath stops. The bumped against me like cows, not expecting me to be quite real. And yet there I was.

I feel vaguely guilty about 'ruining' tools, but I have bought a cheap and nasty screwdriver and filed a slot in the blade, so I can open electrical goods and repair them like the sort of person who has a shed filled with things that will come in handy one day.

There's a house opposite with a couple of pallets in the front garden. I am very strongly tempted to ask the nice people if they have plans for them.

I also found a whole pile of scratty phonecam pics that never made it to any sort of bolog. I should bolog them and then they will have meaning.
hirez: (My name is legion)
Earlier this evening I posted a picture of a gravestone on the FB because ho ho ho gothics and churchyards, eh? What am I like, etc?

The slightly longer story is probably going to take me a couple of attempts to get out of my head, so I don't know how much of this will survive.

There's another picture in the phone, which would have been of a pair of circling Kestrels (maybe) had the camera optics been a bit better. Instead you can see the house across the valley from Charlton Abbots church. It is called Holt Farm and I lived there until 1976. The set of views possible from those two locations were quite a feature of my growing up. I am really quite familiar with many of them.

Thus it is quite hard to completely convey the absolute weirdness in finding that gravestone, lurking in plain sight in the wall of the churchyard. It really is very Nigel Kneale.

The other thing that happened is that I stumbled over a 'tweet' by what appears to be 'Tony' 'Parsons'. It reads, for the most part, 'Hande hoch! For you zer war is over!'.

In seventies Winchcombe, which was halfway between home and primary school, there was George Constant the barber, an actual sweet shop called oh god I've forgotten the last time I looked it was an antique clock shop, which means the children of Winchcombe will have to make do with a restored half-hunter rather than a sherbert thing and a packet of ten candy cigarettes. Round the corner and down a bit, almost opposite the narrow lane down to Hayward's (hardware shop) workshop, was the newsagent. There was a sloping counter of general interest magazines (Farmer's Weekly, Woman's Weekly, etc), things I never looked at towards the back of the shop, and a roundy-roundy thing (aka a hurdy-gurdy) that contained JT Edson paperbacks and Commando comics.

What little I knew of people from Europe in those days was informed by those Commando comics, Dad's Army, Colditz (although that was on late so I wasn't allowed to watch it) and The Secret War.

Quite a number of years later, (1993) I (we) beetled off to a campsite just outside Lelystad for a hacker camp (HEU) and discovered really rather quickly that everything I thought I knew was more or less wrong, which was absolutely fine, and most of the things that other people (friends, family, the mainstream media) were keen to tell me was also wrong, and that was absolutely fine too and I could cheerfully ignore them.

It also made it obvious that the people who wrote for the NME had haunted similar shops and also read Commando comics and watched Dad's Army. And had learned nothing of the wider world since then.

'Tony' 'Parsons' has not been to a hacker camp, so can be cheerfully ignored. He is reacting to people from Europe as if they were from a Commando comic.

It is the C21st and that sort of behaviour is really quite stupid. On the other hand he is old and probably had it shot off in the war for the likes of you.
hirez: (dissent)
Today, being the Sunday before a bank holiday and thus the sort of day where one should be eyeing up a hangover, either departing or lumbering over the horizon, we got up early and went to the shops.

Everyone else in Bristol seemed to have stopped at home for the moment of hangover crystallisation or for the ceremonial calculation of an upcoming hangover's potential.

I have no idea what the SI unit of hangover might be.

The bloke who owns the farm shop (Mike. An actual farmer.) had some theories about Bank Holiday People that he had plenty of time on which to elaborate.

People who pitch up early are steamingly hungover and aren't fit for anything but staring into space and gibbering quietly. They just want breakfast. (Which is why the shop bit was deserted) But buy the time you get into the early afternoon of the actual bank holiday, you get the people who've had to spend an extra day with the rest of the family that they go to work to avoid. If they're turning up at a farm shop that lives where NE Bristol peters out into countryside, then they've not managed to arrange going away for a weekend and are going to be in an extra foul temper with themselves and the people they go to work to avoid, with whom they have had to spend an extra day. So they take it all out on the staff.
hirez: (dissent)
The thing I was going to write yesterday, but mutated into whining about IP addresses, turned out to be slightly deeper than I expected.

For reasons of retro, or perhaps for reasons of 'These are the things we have lying about' the washing line isn't a collapsible hurdy-gurdy (as Pa named all things that went round and round) like modern people from the seventies have to hang their bri-nylon outside so as to catch all the instant sunshine provided by a WE.177C free-fall thermonuclear device.

(Is is perhaps coincidence that people wore fewer nylon undergarments as CMOS logic became more popular?)

No. We do not have that sort of thing because our back garden is a nuclear-free zone. The front garden is handy for the front door, so is often at home to my Alpha-particle-emitting key fob. Which has been glowing quietly for at least twenty years.

So in our nuclear-free garden we must keep something that is not of the seventies and will not remind people of such things lest they have a march and make a right mess of the strawberries, the careless CND bastards. Thus the washing line is held up by a pair of what I'm fairly sure are scaff poles. They've gone a lot rusty and the hammerite I applied about a decade ago is beginning to flake off as the rust blooms outwards like spaceship fungus.

The one nearest the house has also been leaning at more and more of a drunken angle since the thing that was holding it upright no longer works.

There is an unknown length of RSJ (I-beam to everyone else) concreted into the garden, and it would be at an ideal height to bark one or other shin upon, were it not set in line with a low wall that holds up the alleged rockery. There is (or was) a very rusty V-bolt more-or-less pinning the bottom of the scaff pole to that RSJ, with the rotten remains of a lump of wood that was originally providing some squidge to tighten the V-bolt against.

It had all rotted out. A week or so ago, I poked at the thing with a stick, worked out how big the V-bolt was, and realised with something of a sinking feeling that I was setting a chain of events in motion when I toddled upstairs to order replacement bolts off the internets. I had also decided to buy myself an angle-grinder as a present, because, well, angle-grinder. Also because the existing V-bolt was single rusty lump and there wasn't enough WD-40 in the known universe to free off its nuts. (ooer, etc.)

The replacement V-bolts arrived on Saturday morning. The sun was bright and the air was clear and I peered at the things as they sat on the table, wishing for an excuse. I thought that I might as well inspect the old V-bolt again, since I would need to find a lump of wood in the shed to replace the rotten section. I waggled the pole back and forth, experimentally. Then thought 'Oh fucking bollocks to everything' and hauled at it. It lifted right out, which was tiresome. I scraped out the weeds, earth and rotten wood. The bottom end of the scaff pole came out next. It had completely rusted out, which is why I was able to move it at all.

I was committed now.

I dug out a junior hacksaw (I have several, but can only ever find one at a time) and cut away the rusty bolt. At some point, silly-sod the previous owner had performed some more concreting and made it impossible to replace the V-bolt, so I attacked that with a bolster until there was enough elbow room. In the shed, where I have been clearing space, I found the right lump of wood to squidge between RSJ and scaff pole.

I had the thing back in place and bolted firmly upright before I really knew what I was doing.

If there's a take-away from any of this, it's that I have some difficulty diving into projects that I'm not entirely sure about. 'Some difficulty' in this case probably also parses as 'sinking feeling and nameless dread, why not go and waste the afternoon on social media instead?' which is no real way to run a railroad.

The upside to some of this is that I obviously have collected enough random bits of wood that they're starting to come in very handy indeed. And also that there's the start of enough space in the shed/garage to be able to think small thoughts without having to go outside to change your mind.
hirez: (Aspirational message)
Well, would you look at that:


Comment successfully posted.
IP Address: (2001:0470:1f15:0097:76d4:35ff:fe81:4dcd)


Yay for DW doing IPv6!

As detailed on FB, and probably just below this if the sodding algorithms even work, which I'm fairly sure they do, just not in a way that is useful to Carbon Units (or 'Flesh Liabilities' as the Commerce AI systems have it).

But, y'know, FriendFace isn't actually for you and me, is it? In much the same way that Twitter works best for authoritarians and 'GNU' 'social' is best for people with boundary and personal hygiene issues. Also PHP. Really?

Anyway. The garage is less full, the garden is less manky, the house LAN is less slow and I still can't find the blasted set of screwdrivers I wanted. This much achievement is actually somewhat disturbing.
hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
From mail:

Thank you for creating a customer account at Blake UK Ltd.

Here are your login details:

E-mail address: me@my-domain.com
Password: [ plain text password goes here ]

Important Security Tips:

Always keep your account details safe.
Never disclose your login details to anyone.
Change your password regularly.
Should you suspect someone is using your account illegally, please notify us immediately.



[FX: Golf clap]

Well done, chaps. Well done.

I'm sure that if I did change my p/w regularly, they'd be pleased to send me a plain text reminder each time...
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
Tidying the outside (or at least the bit of outside that the bank considers I mostly own) continues. If not apace, then at least awalk or apotter.

After the excitement of Fire! yesterday, there was putting the remains of the fire in the composter, putting some other stuff in the composter, weeding round the bottom of the near end of the clothes line and then realising that that the near end of the clothes line was only upright through rust and rotten wood holding hands.

First port of call - http://u-bolts-r-us.co.uk (An actual website, m'lud) who didn't keep V-bolts.

Second port of call - Blakes of Sheffield. I was tempted to order seven things because it's Eastercon in the other window.

N-th port of call, sparky fun machine shop because swearing away at a rusty bolt with a Junior hacksaw will be less than no fun. Also, angle-grinder.
hirez: (Object)
I am really quite tired because sleep appears to be for other people, but I am strangely energised having spent an hour or so slicing up the cardboard box mountain in the garage. Thus far the oldest packing note I have found is from 2008, which isn't really big or clever. It has taken me a while to beard this particular den/lion combination (It is Easter, so you can have a KJV reference and like it.) and it is going to be something of a process since we live in a town and you can't just haul stuff out into a pile and set light to it.

Now to dispose of a stack of flat screens (dead), Dell servers (ditto), hairdryers (again) and kettles. Just the sort of things your average hacker/goth wears out regularly.

This is also a test of IFTTT/DW malarkey.
hirez: (Default)
I don't even know that this is a good idea. Which currently seems to be something of a theme.

I imagine later there will be crossposting. What larks!
hirez: (Trouble with my worms (ii))
I actually finished a short story. And indeed started it. There's a middle, too.

(Wants to mature for a bit before editing, mind)

I believe I shall be really quite pleased with that outcome.
hirez: (Default)
Viewing Severed Heads on the industrial floor of Slimelight was... Actually entirely appropriate. So was bumping into lovely people while on the way out and then comprehensively missing any likely bus because of jabbering about, er, stuff.

The setlist is probably elsewhere on the internet already, but 'Goodbye tonsils' at volume = kidney-wobbling was surprisingly hallucinogenic. In that like all older Sevs tracks, it is at least two tunes fighting for supremacy, which in the privacy and comfort of yr own nocturnal fondlings you can intellectualise away like it was complicated jazz.

However, in a scrotty club when you've been on the ale and the smoke-machine and then packed into a seething mass of people worrying if they're going to get home in time for the babysitter...

Fuck it, they were really good and played a pile of Clifford hits.

Meanwhile, the Wikipeejah page for City Slab Horror is a delight and I salute 124.170.134.29 for an entirely appropriate version of events:


The album was reviewed by reviewers. Andy Hurt of Sounds magazine wrote that it is "one of the most accomplished, complete works in recent years" and gave the record 4 and 3 quarter and one fifth and a tiny bit more stars out of five. One reviewer pontificated that "with [City Slab Horror], "the Heads" have cemented their place at the forefront of the electronic experimentalists".[5] He was obviously a tosser so most people took no notice of him and as expected Severed Heads has been relegated to the position of something that is only cited by anoraks and one or 2 commercial bands who have members claiming to be influenced by Skinny Puppy.


Christ, but Skinny Puppy were shite. But then alt.gothic was filled with people American students alleging that the most cock-awful rackets were dead Goth and everything. Boyd fucking Rice for instance. No. Just no. Or 'NON', perhaps. I kind of went along with it at the time because there was no useful way of checking w/o sodding off down to Resurrection and paying the splendid Andy and/or Katrina to find out.

HHOS (i)

Sep. 8th, 2016 11:30 pm
hirez: (Challenger)
On the way home, I heave to in a queue of traffic handy for Warmley, where there used to be a brickworks next to where there used to be a railway line. Now there is a park and a bike path, but the station survives as a caff. There is a furious revving and a screech of what should have been tyres, but which smelled to me more like fried clutch. I look for the BMW or JDM something-or-other with a shopping list down the front wing, but there is nothing but a two-stroke Transit (judging by the smoke) and a... Ka?

Posting here seems to be about either computers or cars. That is because I am a middle-class English bloke, and I don't have feelings. I have well-meant mansplaining about the best way to get to Yeovil.
hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
SHA2017 call for participation opens!
hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
I have a horrible feeling that if you found all my posts where I'd gone off on one about the awfulness of computers, you'd also find companion pieces that mostly read 'S'alright. Fixed it.' that arrived a couple of days later.

Is that good? It's probably good.

Solutions:
i) Use ISC Kea for DHCP(4|6) server(s).
ii) Use dhcpcd5 for the client.
iii) Write a sed(1) one-liner that runs as the last thing in yr preseed script and comments out any 'iface eth' lines in /etc/network/interfaces.

Well, I say 'write'. I mean 'find on the internet like everyone else.'
hirez: (Armalite rifle)
One of the things that I'm doing at work is hacking on our VM-build rig so that is it less terrible to use. [1] Coincidentally, there's some network-fondling going on that will make it 'trivial'(tm) to do IPv6 on the servers. So I have this medium-sized chain of VMs and config running on the Xen cluster in the basement and fucking hell has it been a right old laugh to make any of it work, hoo boy let me tell you.

So in order, from a notional left where the will to build a new virtual machine that will do Server! Things! resides in a representative Carbon Unit, to the far right hand side of the process where there is a Server! Doing Things! this is what we find.

Generating VMs using the Xen API is... Not actively unpleasant. It is a mild inconvenience that all the Xen docco assumes that you're using Python. (Is there a Config Management tool based around Python? I mean, there probably is. Fabric?) However, it's just an API and the Ruby wrapper insulates one from the worst of the XMLRPC hatefulness.

However. Generating a VM is only about 10% of the job. After that you must get the thing to boot enough of an OS to install something, and fairly obviously automate that install completely so your interaction with the process is some command-line fun followed a mug of tea later by the monitoring system telling you your new box is live. Beardian have a thing they call 'preseeding', which is more or less scripting the sequence of install menus that you get on every Beard-derived distro. No I do not wish to take part in the popularity contest. I don't know anyone who does.

We had a working preseed rig, but it was generated from the Squeeze docs, massaged for Wheezy and mostly broke for Jessie. Along with the Xen heads and a set of other customs and practices that were only there because they were there.

I like throwing code away it is great.

The IPv6 bits for preseeding are, er, entirely undocumented. Thus I spent about a week, in between rebuilding obsolete Xen servers, discovering that though the manuals allege that DHCPv6 is supported, it doesn't work in any useful sort of way.

For instance. When you configure a Beardian box to do DHCPv4, you'll find a line in its network config that looks like this: 'iface eth0 inet dhcp'. If you copy that and append '6' to the 'inet' bit, then it will allegedly do DHCPv6 as well and you will get a dual-stacked interface. Only not, because the preseed doc is entirely lacking details of the knob you twiddle to enable DHCPv6 such that the installer will write that 'inet6' bit into the network config.

DHCPv4 is a fairly ancient protocol that is mostly filled with things the designers thought would be jolly useful at the time. Like this: 'The Impress server option specifies a list of Imagen Impress servers available to the client.' There are probably others for specifying the size and shape of the horseless carriage that will be required to route the packets should the primary link fail. The original plan (from what I remember) for IPv6 was that you wouldn't need any of that sort of rubbish. You'd tell the routers what the first half of the IPv6 allocation was, and the machines connected to same would use their MAC address as the bottom half. Sorted!

Yeah, so about that notion of machines just turning up at random points in an IP allocation larger than the observable universe. How are you going to manage that, and given that most people can't even be arsed typing 'www.facebook.com' into a browser, how d'you think typing 'https://2001:0470:1f15:0fa1:76d4:35ff:fef1:4acd' is going to work for you?

Thus DHCPv6 and some bit-twiddling. Given you've already had to set up Router Advertisment to tell your machines what the first half of their IPv6 allocation looks like, you might as well also use that to advertise the fact that this netblock is Managed. Yes, you set the 'M' bit and all the good children will start emitting DHCPv6 queries.

Which is obviously not mentioned in the preseed documentation because, well, why would you even need to know that was a thing? If you were doing a proper v6 rollout you'd have the network infrastructure already working and you wouldn't need to spend half a day working out what code did the network config, finding same on a Beardian archive server and then tracing through someone else's wonky C to find the one line that makes you think dark thoughts before going out for quite a long walk to calm down again.

Of course it's entirely irrelevant because even when you do get RAs working with the M bit, nothing will write the 'inet6' bit into the network config.

Meanwhile. A thing you can do with a small subset of server daemons is have them update the DNS when a new machine pitches up. Ordinarily you would never ever do this inside a server netblock ever because that way lies madness. However, doing reverse DNS for v6 involves an awful lot of typing. If you are a bit hazy on how DNS works, it's an awful lot of typing, followed by a bunch of cargo-culted procedures, kicking the DNS server twice and then going 'Oh you'll have to wait 24 hours for it to propagate'

If anyone says that to you about the DNS, they have no idea what they're talking about and you should ask to speak to a grownup without delay.

Thus having some computers to manage all of that would probably be a really good idea. After all, the dynamic DNS standard has been about for a while. About a decade ago, when I was still at Labs, I ended up running the DHCP rig there. I became very familiar with the contents of Droms & Lemon, which was (is?) The Book About DHCP. Back then, the standard servers were either Windows DHCP or ISC ditto. In the docs for ISC-DHCP, it mentioned that the DDNS update style in use was 'interim' because the standard had not been ratified when they were writing that code. Since the BOOTP servers at Labs had only just been turned off, DDNS was viewed with a deal of suspicion since these modern protocols were everywhere and would probably amount to nothing and do you have an up-to-date copy of the hosts table?

I was digging through the doc for the latest version of ISC-DHCP at the beginning of the week. In there I found the DDNS section, where it mentioned that new rollouts should use the 'standard' style. It was nice to know that there was now a proper standard RFC way of doing DDNS. Hurrah for a decade of progress!

It didn't work. I had a look at the client config on one of the Jessie nodes I was using. 'interim' style. Well, that was a bit tiresome. Still, it's just a config change and it is a new standard and everything.

i) Beardian hard codes the DHCP client config into the 'ifup' command.
ii) I went and looked at the date on the DDNS RFC. Nineteen ninety fucking seven.

I am fact coming to the conclusion that no-one's really tried any of this yet. Or, if they have, they've facebooked it and written the entire stack themselves in a fit of pique.[1]


[1] There's an Internet Law (or probably a devops/automation law) that goes along the lines of 'All private cloud automation attempts will tend toward replicating Heroku, only badly'. So we carefully bear that in mind, should the mood to turn it up to eleven strike.
hirez: (Challenger)
A long time ago, when Radio 4 was still a regular feature in my life...

... Which makes it sound like Our Tune, which was a regular feature in other people's lives...

... Which had a theme that is instantly recognisable if you remember Simon sodding Bates, which you would only listen to because it was summer and you were waiting for the Radio One Roadshow, which was a regular feature in dreadful places up and down the coast that may or may not have existed.

(If you clicked that link: you're welcome!)

Mind, one of the chaps at Labs could (and would) hum the first bar, at which point everyone within range would call him a bastard.

Anyway.

There used to be these odd announcements just before the news on R4. "This is an urgent message for Dr. and Mr. Boggis of Carshalton, who are on a motoring holiday in the west of England..."

They always seemed to be from a universe that hadn't invented motorways or a Polio vaccine and where the AA (or RAC) chaps saluted as you went by on your way to an inn that would sell you mild ale. Although perhaps also it was Pa's (and hence my, because that's how family things work until you inspect them for sanity) utter inability to stop on the way somewhere in order to look at something.

Holidays were formatted like this:
i) Get in car. Drive somewhere.
ii) Have holiday.
iii) Get in car. Drive home.

At no point would there be dawdling, loitering, a scenic route or stopping for anything other than actual projectile vomiting.

Retracing one's route, unless one was actually at stage (iii) was right out, too. Which leads to some weird holiday topology and quite advanced map-reading skills. Far more recently, there was this one time I had to give a set of Norwegians a lift back to York at the end of a Whitby weekend so they could catch the longship back to That London. It felt so wrong to be leaving A Holiday before the time allotted to Fun was up. However, we were doing the entire wonky-week, so...
hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
I'm probably going to do something crap and LJ-antagonistic like post a bunch of pictures to FB that no-one outside that horrible walled attention sink can look at. And indeed that no-one inside that horrible walled attention sink will look at. Or they'll look at them and it'll be as impenetrable as livecoding music.

EMFCamp2016 was utterly cosmic, once I'd got over the lack of sleep.

The badge seems to have one of every sensor, but also seems to crash micropython for a pastime. Although that mostly seemed to be a thundering horde problem followed by a (lack of) caching one. But there's probably not enough elbow room on the board to do it right or something.

I also have a Milliways coin, which has only taken oh-god-about-a-decade-and-a-bit.

Next one: https://wiki.sha2017.org/index.php/Main_Page

If you can't wait that long: https://bornhack.dk/

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hirez: (Default)
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