hirez: (Aspirational message)
Well, would you look at that:


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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: (Merry Jingle)
Last night[1] in the Llandoger Trow, halfway through the Christmas boat-based pub crawl, I chanced upon a woman wearing a striking red-and-white houndstooth coat. She looked like she'd just been delivered by RadioSpares. I would have taken a picture but I was mostly incapable and her partner looked like the sort who'd fail to get any joke that he'd not made up himself.


[1] I say 'night'. I think it was early evening. We started at 2pm in the Nova Scotia.

I should be dead of a hangover, but after years of getting several other peoples' at once, I've managed to learn the trick of offloading them myself. To whoever's got mine: Thanks. I had a splendid time.
hirez: (muddy)
Earlier, I was regaled with a story of some fellow being tied, bollock-naked, to a rugger goal at Cheltenham College and then covered in flour (among other things. My correspondent was cycling past at the time) before being prodded with pointy sticks for his trouble.

I presume some 'traditional' (but still teeth-grindingly terrible. We shall make no mistake about that.) ceremony wherein the poshos single out the weak one from the herd for 'special consideration'.

At Westwood's (bloody place, burned down and not before time, wish I'd been the one with the tin of paraffin, etc) it was birthdays. One chap was tied to a chair, which was then hung on the coat-rack outside the staff-room.

I was tied to a chair (after a pitched battle. JH-R vs. roomful of bastards) and left in the middle of the cricket square.

I was reading very recently that 'revenge' is just a sick fantasy that keeps the powerless in their place. (Equally 'getting back' at someone, 'making them pay', 'they'll be sorry' and the relevant Roald Dahl short story)

Of course I only mention that because chief bastard joined the Guards and is now a fireman. (Or so I was told a couple of years ago.)

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JH-R

August 2017

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