hirez: (Riiight)
I could probably go and find out, via the magic of looking for the relevant LJ entry, when I first found the Berkeley Arms. However it was probably a disturbingly long time ago and I would be left wondering what the hell I was thinking in the interim years. Whatever it was, it didn't add up to 'We should totally visit that pub on a warm evening and sit around with beer.' because it took some proper poking from [livejournal.com profile] cybermule before it happened.

So we totally visited that pub on a warm evening and sat around with beer. It was really jolly good.

The place has a bar with a choice of bitter or, er, an unlit Guinness pump. The thing that was lit was the square 'Tartan Bitter' lamp from the seventies. There were probably bottles of barley wine, Babycham and Mackeson, too.

There were Zwartbles sheep that belonged to the landlady, which were in the field out front, rather than in the bar. That would have been weird. Also out front was a pillbox that offered commanding views over the fast-rising tide up the Severn.

Later, we went to inspect the state of the Purton Hulks in the last of the daylight.
hirez: (Challenger)
Container drivers! Kraftwerk soundtrack! Pre-Schengen Agreement freight transport!

(part 1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ms6rKgt3seg
(Part 2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUM93-hChto

An article in CM provides a lot of background, but the things that mostly struck me were 'Top Gear are still using the same typeface. And Range Rovers. And exactly the same sort of shots. Still, can't expect progress from that lot, and I doubt you'd see them repair their vehicles in a Belgian car-park after a day's drive.'
hirez: (tank)
Today appeared to be 'drive like even more of a slack-jawed Bristolian fucktard than usual' day. By the time I'd got to the hateful 'leisure centre' (or whatever the hell it is. I'm sure those things used to be swimming pools, saunas, a coffee bar and a game of pong for the kids while you were having it all seventies in your bri-nylon relaxation wear, but now they've got rid of anything involving more exercise than tottering in from the car park so you are free to gorge yourself spherical in a selection of terrible theme 'non-destinational vertical eating outlets' before slobbing out in the multiplex to busly text yr mates as noisily as possible because you can't hear your phone over the noise of the film and the tiresome people telling you to shut the fuck up.)

It's hard to believe that the generation that was so invested (haw!) in nylon clothing would also invent CMOS logic.

... Anyway, some shitbag in a builder's pickup (you could tell by the broom dropped into one of the ladder-rack uprights, the ladder carelessly and diagonally lashed across the load-bed and the way it was driven by a complete cock-end) clattered past on the way to Jewsons/The tile shop/Asda/The Next outlet shop.

I thought no more about it because there was a roundabout heaving into view and the sun was both low and bright in the sky.

That is until there was an el-massivo


as bollocky-bill the builder's boy steamed past a set of Pelican lights, which caught his diagonally-lashed ladder square on, ripped it wholesale from the back of his van and put a quite handy dent in the 'safety' railings. Good job there was no-one crossing the road there, because the ambulance would have required a mop and bucket for the bits.

I laughed, bastard that I am.
hirez: (pillock)
(Yes, I was quite surprised that it was quite so much of A Thing, too. Perhaps this makes me a terrible person, fit only for haunting coffee-bars and ironic trouser shops in East London.)

I was startled to discover that a (Chinese, deactivated) AK weighs about the same as a Macbook Pro. Or at least that's what it feels like. I could consult the internet for tiresome accuracy, but that would spoil things.

Looks like I picked the wrong week to pick 'Stonemouth' as holiday reading. Might have had a bit of a moment at some Barnstaple traffic lights, might have been hayfever. If I suffered from same.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
I think I am experimenting with how and if four (four!) slightly different social-meejah-wossnames can be made to play well together. I note that G+ and parent org appear to be making all the fuckups in the first month that it took LJ a decade to muddle through. That's either something clever to do with the accelerating nature of the 'plug-in lifestyle' (We have been living in one or other John Brunner story for the last two decades) or an attitude of 'start as you mean to go on'.

On one hand, it seems that having some semblance of your real name attached to yr online doings does make the poo-flinging howlers shut the hell up. On the other hand, there are clear and sensible reasons why being able to bother the internet under a pseudonym is an actual safety issue. I suspect Gurgle are being aspie cock-ends about it, but that they're also utterly buggered by the relevant US legislation.

I also suspect that we're in a very odd sort of transitory period between sad old gimmers like me who have piles of records and negatives and would be buggered if physical unfortunateness happened, and ver yout' who keep all their things on other people's computers and who will be differently buggered for theoretically less structural reasons. People have coped in the past with losing all their stuff - they got to make a sad face in the local paper about it. The future version will involve the expectation of a second chance and I'm off into victim-blaming and I don't want to do that. Back to Brunner - 4GH FTW.

Obviously, I don't see fit to record or organise enough of my life to usefully bother three of the things, so I suspect it likely that one or more will fall by the wayside, which would be either sad, of minor interest or 'Who? No, never heard of him.'
hirez: (Aspirational message)
A trans narrative that is just a happy thing. It's that Gibson thing about the future being here but unevenly distributed.

A thing I will attempt to write tomorrow. (via [livejournal.com profile] fjm and [livejournal.com profile] tamaranth) Joyce or Ballard? Place bets now.

(Perhaps this week will be mostly linkfondling. Who can say? There are a lot of things in my head, but as soon as I start to think about writing them down they run off to hide behind the sofa.)

Things I ought to do / things I want to do.

Think about flinging yourself at the ground and missing.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
The last time I had to strip, clean and re-assemble an IBM keyboard, it was the mid 80s, the thing had probably come off an XT from Rolls-Royce at Filton that someone had poured their cocoa into, and I was the PFY.

It does all come back to one rather quickly.

This time, the keyboard was off a XT-286, so there was a connector at the keyboard end of the cable rather than a grommet, and most of the keys had separate caps to make pulling it to bits easier. These later efforts have the plastic-spot-welded chassis rather than the two lumps of steel twisted together, so there's no way of cleaning the switches, even if one wanted to. (Well, you can wang them in an ultrasonic bath if you really want.)
hirez: (pillock)
For at least one less-than-fortunate reason (and because I like it) I've been having longer and stranger conversations with Mater of late.

This one included the uselessness of men[1], non-traditional gender presentation and first-wave feminism. All good fun.

[1] Thankfully I'm the wrong bloody species to be a vibe-traitor.
hirez: (Lomo)

Last of the current set. Features lack of focus due to mixing beer and patent cold-cures, disturbing yet naturalistic pictures of drunk people, scaffolding and the end of the world (telecoms version).
hirez: (tank)
The ritual selection of tiresome phonecalls from the air-time provider signals that I must be coming to the end of my current mobile contract. Anything running Windows is right out. I'm sort of vaguely tempted by an iPhone, but that means O2 and, well, Not Fucking Likely. I suspect I shall go back to Hutchinson-Whampoa, assuming they've unwalled their version of the internet somewhat. GPS would be a nice toy, though I suspect that would mean a lumpy phone with shit battery life.

Oh. Random memory: a few months ago, I did a fair bit of driving (for me)1. The latter part was all on rolling two-lane blacktop because that was what I wanted. Anyway, once you get up past Deerbrook on Route 45 it's pretty much all trees. It was dark by then, the road wasn't that bendy and I'd found that if you pushed the Moskvitch2 past 80 it felt like the wheels were only a bit oval rather than completely square. And because the outside was featureless and I was running on Lord-knows-what, it seemed like a really Good Idea to use the GPS map as pace notes.

Don't try that at home. You'll get no signal indoors.

1. Fox Lake, IL, -> Neenah, WI -> Eagle River, WI. I've just viewed it on Google Maps and bloody hell it looks scary.

2. I know that the job losses would be a terrible thing and the effects down the supply-chain likely worse, so I don't actually wish Epic Fail on it, but I can't instantly think of a GM car that I'd miss if it did all go horribly wrong. I guess various flavours of rocket-fired Monaro, but watching an annoying middle-aged man cane one on the telly is as close as I'm likely to get. Other than that, I draw a blank.
hirez: (Default)
Ron Asheton's died and Florian Schneider's left Kraftwerk.


And now it appears that LJ have booted a swathe of their US-based techies. As is usual with these stories (about one a year since I joined) I'll believe it when I see it, but since it comes coincidentally close to the news about Journalspace, those of you with Unix boxes could do worse than ljsm.pl.

(May or may not work on other OSes, seems to depend on a third-party site in .ru to expand big comment-trees, so perhaps not terribly trustworthy for those of you who emit gossipmungous friends-only posts that attract pages of scurrilous commentary. There's nothing I can do for you on that score.)
hirez: (Q-309)
Buying music on MP3 (from Amazon. Appears unencumbered) feels as much of a real transaction as buying things with plastic did.

1000 Motels

Jun. 8th, 2008 07:16 pm
hirez: (dissent)
Am in the Hoxton Hotel, reverting to type. I'd say 'Anyone fancy a pint?' but, y'know, London bar prices.
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)
One or other of the Existentialists will likely have said something pithy about bicycle fettling, so assume I've cribbed the thing and put it here.
(Or make something up, find out for yourselves or just cut&paste from Hatchjaw's treatise on de Selby.)

Which is to say that I've scraped a disturbing amount of glass and thorns from the front tyre, patched the tube and pumped the bugger back up to rock-hard. We shall see what sort of state it's in tomorrow morning.

Elsewhere: SLF and Mark Stewart & the Maffia! YMO! Seated venue! Tickets wil go in seconds! While we're in Whitby! Arse!
hirez: (dissent)
o D/L the GParted live-cd

o And a FreeBSD ditto


hirez: (Default)

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