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: (Sweep alcohol)
A somewhat surprising memory: the first time I consumed fish & chips from a chip-shop was while on a religious retreat in Staveley in 1977.
hirez: (Default)
It's not for the likes of me to pass comment on the sartorial choices of anyone else; if it makes you feel good you should wear it and sod the mores of contemporary culture.

That pointed out, people tottering about in a winter coat and ballet flats remind me of Max Ernst's Ubu Imperator. It is also right cold out. Today is the right day for big fuck-off boots and an arse-kicking attitude.
hirez: (Armalite rifle)
You know, the American rock industry would be buggered if it couldn't sell incidental music to the military-industrial complex.


Oct. 3rd, 2008 12:07 pm
hirez: (Happy cycling)
Back on the nice bike (well, nice for me, since something from the carbon-fibre end of the shop would have been wasted) this AM due to tiresome puncture malarkey in the dark last night.

Bloody hell it's quick.

Yes, I know I'm the motive power and all I have to do is back off a cog or two and/or sit up and have a breather, but there's something about it that makes caning it on the big ring feel like a perfectly sensible thing to do. Rather than making the trip home a bonktastic slog.

I must put proper mudguards on the thing, otherwise the Audaxers will come round my house and complain.

[1] Tell me, O young persons. Is/was that a club-storming 'hit'?
hirez: (Challenger)
1) Have a quick listen to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqZUTO6e5_s

[Poll #1232747]

I'm going to be collecting these all evening: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kydj5kdV4wc
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)
Google maps on yr mobile. It's not the OS, but it's a jolly nice toy.
hirez: (Challenger)
The realisation that I am/was a complete spaceflight junkie was kicked into me by the series of comments on [livejournal.com profile] miss_soap's journal. Of course, it's obvious now that I think about it. As a (pre) teen I grooved (for it was the seventies) on the Apollo coverage, Reg Turnbull, James Burke, Gerry Anderson's diesel-powered heavy plant, the Apollo-Soyuz mission, Skylab, Mir, Buran, pre-86 Shuttle, Tomorrow's World and even Maria von Schell in an ugly beige jumpsuit.

Mind, this is the same Tomorrow's World that published a book in which they went on at great length about mining for manganese modules on the seabed, as evidenced by the Hughes Corporation's Glomar Explorer. The fact that this was a cover story invented by the CIA to divert attention from the real project - raising a sunken Russian K-boat - is... Unfortunate, given the circumstances of this post.

Which is that it's beyond me why anyone would give credence to the Apollo hoax rumours. I've spent the last couple of days wandering through NASA, Encyclopaedia Astronautica and Wikipaedia and my impression remains that anyone who voluntarily straps themselves onto the point end of a huge firework built by gummint contract is significantly braver than I am. Fancy spending a week in a small cone with two other blokes and no bog (See, if it had all been done by Hollywood, the bizarre American prudery when it comes to bodily functions would have ensured that all space vehicles came with an upstairs closet, rather than adult Pampers. Seriously. Read the story of the Apollo 8 mission) then descending to another planet in a device about the size of an Austin Mini, with a flight computer about as powerful as a mid-80s HP programmamble that crashed repeatedly during that descent? Not my idea of a good time.

It became depressingly clear during the Challenger investigation that is was a miracle any of it worked at all.

This explains why we're earthbound. (found via [livejournal.com profile] reddragdiva and [livejournal.com profile] sclerotic_rings)
hirez: (Default)
As Ed Price would have it: 'Having a bit of a fester'. For one reason or another, the last pair of migraines kicked the crap out of me. I'm not sure if I'm paying more attention to the inside of my head, or if these were just different. Anyway, I think the blood-sugar crashes and ugly mood swings have stopped, so I'm far less likely to call you all a tiresome shower of bastards and employ a brutal and entirely personal Stark Fist of Removal. Praise 'Bob' for &style=mine.

Migraine malarkey on the web seems to fall into two camps. Accept the healing power of Ergotamine (Mentioned in both Big Black sleevenotes and a (presumably, since I bought one) short-lived comic-thing called A1. Albini also mentions heroin, and I'm not trying that either.) or the healing power of Jesus. Well, a plague on both their houses. I'm into prevention, not mitigation. Here's an undergrad sufferer's paper which covers it all well.

Via the fine fellows over at CCC we find this (entertaining) and this (bloody depressing).

I'm not sure about this. A part of this. The 'Deaf Bach' section in particular.
hirez: (Armalite rifle)
Brown pinstripe suit w/lionels and Dunlops == Cobol programmer.

Ugh. Bad mojo.

(Though for the full effect, you'd want a knitted tie, real-ale beard and a copies of Practicals Caravan, Computing and Electronics in a 70s Sainsbury's carrier.)


hirez: (Default)

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