Jan. 16th, 2016

hirez: (24)
Years ago, when I had yet to fully mature, like some kind of human tree growing rings of unpleasant experiences and a bark worse than some bytes...

... No, I have no idea either. Anyway. So prior to three years ago or something when my hand/eye co-ordination was less than optimal, I used to think that the disease called 'Dropsy' made you drop stuff.

I am typing this before looking that word up on the internet so as to preserve some vague concept of causality.

These last few weeks I are been having it nice middle-class bus from the park+ride on the edge of Bath. The last time I used it, the place was a muddy analogue of a festival car-park that was full by five past nine. Now there's posh bogs, hardstanding and the juggling and donkey-taunting field has been pressed into service as a place for twits to park their BMW/Hyundai/Smart as far as possible from anyone else because of $reasons. And the buses run every ten minutes. It's like they're taunting the rest of the FailBus empire. 'Ha-ha! You have to beetle round areas where poor people live! No-one on our buses sodcasts! And we have working cashless fares!'

While waiting for the Nice Bus to pull away from the building formerly known to $employer as Westgate-where-we-keep-the-IT-people-away-from-the-nice-creatives, I was grovelling through Twitter and about to come to the attention of the TERFs (in a very minor way, kind of a driveby Serdar Argic.) when some SRS BSNS type steams up, sees the scruffy oik having it 4G and whips out his $(Some tablet or other) so he can do businessy things. On a bus.

Way back, when Z88s were still things, I'd blagged a spare one and the dev kit to keep my occupied on a train journey, probably from London direct to the Copperfields, Cheltenham. I am blundering away at the 'keyboard' when a different SRS BSNS type heaves to and takes up the seat opposite. I can see him thinking 'Scruffy oik, expensive computing hardware that should only be used by busy executives, I'm not standing for this.' and kind of half watch while he makes this puffy breathing show of digging out all the receipts in the world and an Executive Calculator, so he may begin theatrically totting up (a) by means of (b).

Obviously the motivations of people who's inner thought processes I can only guess at are opaque to me, so I'm making it all up.

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