hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
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Password: [ plain text password goes here ]

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[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: (Cooper-Clarke)
The fucking site is fucking slow
the fucking code's got fucking holes
the fucking tag is fucking wrong
the fucking diff is fucking long
the fucking distro's fucking old
the fucking coffee's fucking cold
the fucking mood is fucking down
everywhere in devops town

The fucking server's fucking crashed
the fucking console's fucking ash
the fucking disks are fucking full
of fucking logs of sweet fuck-all
the fucking code's in fucking swap
the fucking db's fucking hot
you fucking look a fucking clown
here in fucking devops town

The fucking storage fucking died
the fucking switch is fucking fried
the fucking contract's fucking lost
there's fucking shouting from the boss
the fucking parts are fucking late
you fucking wait you fucking wait
you fucking want to fucking drown
when you fucking work in devops town.
hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
Boo. For a stupid set of reasons (While I like pottering in the garden-thing, I don't much care for the feeling of being observed doing same. Since we live in a terrace, this feeling is near permanent and yes I know at some level that no-one gives a bugger, but when I'm somewhat tired I don't want to be able to feel another mind within a half-mile radius and would you all please just fuck off) I've left the bag of courgette plants just long enough for the flower/bud things to have been consumed by bloody slugs.

Yay. On the other hand, the rescued strawberry plants that time forgot have been shooting runners hither and yon, so I have been placing strategic pots under where the runners bend and having a bit of a propagate. I estimate that by this time next year, the entirety of the garden will be waist-deep in strawberry bushes from before television.

I think I'm beginning to process EMFcamp. It's mostly a week later and I still want to build Mr. Swearybot, keep some sort of a tech blog (http://ops.failcake.net/) and get the work c0dez out there on the github.

Mr. Swearybot? A tinplate robot that's had its clockwork brain replaced by some motors and an Arduino. It beetles up to you, goes 'Twat!', 'You useless tosser!' or 'Hopeless fucking shower!' and then steams off in search of other people to insult. A simple matter of robotics I'm sure you'll agree.
hirez: (muddy)
Bill Gibson in Bristol.
hirez: (muddy)
Didn't camp, but the campsite was splendidly far away from everything, given it's just round the back of Bath.

Formulated a theory about why they're called kebabs here and gyros in septic-land, posed around in a cloak, drank beer and talked shite. All very satisfactory indeed.

Generally, when I've been reading a comic graphic novel, I feel like I've just eaten a tube of Pringles. It's a food-product, but not a useful one. Post reading The Filth... Well, I say 'reading'. I mean 'being ambushed and subjected to perverse sexual practices by'. I retreated to the mentally safer areas of a small pile of 'New Worlds' magazines and the qpopper source code.

Funny bugger that Morrison chap. Talented, mark you.

Otherwise I have this strange idea that I should find the least attractive pub in Bristol and put on a night called 'Old git disco'. Playlist to include 'Don't fear the reaper', 'There is no love', 'Public Image' and, um, some other stuff.

Currently, I'm strongly tempted by The Long Bar on Old Market. Any boozer that has signs reading 'Alcoholics welcome' is clearly going to be a quality establishment, the like of which one has not seen since the demise of the 'fields Twelve Bells.

I've also been saving up the last couple of Raymond Chandler novels. I shall be very sad when I've read them all.
hirez: (My name is legion)
Spam today from Sonia, Sabrina and Jesus Jones.

Eighties popsters in dodgy second career shocker? Not arf!

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