Things what I writ

I sometimes write nonsense about things to try and sound clever

edge of darkness

You know, there’s nothing I like better after a hard days graft than to settle down in a nice cosy corner of a Cali cafe and just quietly discuss organizational structures with people who know as little as I do. But of course, this being the final date of the tour, mentalism was predetermined and hopelessly unavoidable.

I mean, you start the evening with a nice chat at the Blue Chalk and maybe even grab a sausage or two, but at the point where you’re shouting at the dessert menu then really, it’s time to pack up and leave by the back door, shedding a few solo artists on the way. Not this time though. There’s this place, see. This place I was warned about. The place where the law enforcement gather at the bar to bear witness to the social outkasts as they linger around the ‘DJ booth’ and just kind of half-dance around on the sticky carpet. They’re possessed, see? I mean, it’s not right. How can people behave like that?

Well now I know. It’s the 8th layer of hell. It’s Jagermeister. It only took 12 of them and and I was just grunting around the edge of darkness like a 12 year old stuck on Avril Lavigne. I should know better, but they made me do it. Project managers. Can’t live with them, can’t make a fool of yourself and have really bad pictures end up on your own camera without them

either, either, or

You know I can’t discuss it. I mean, I already know, but it’ll take a couple of weeks before I can tell you, right? Anyway, Halloween jokes and all, it’s great to get out and about. Tonight in Palo Alto we had good fun with the Italian sausage, but you know, I have to eat that now, so lets take a snap, quick. Oh, and another. Let’s see, that’s not getting posted. Chris and I will get the Jergens and the rubber gloves out later and see what comes of it.

Really, beyond the jetlag and thousand yard stares, these are great people. I mean, I get to sit round a table with them and shout at the TV and stuff and share those funny and touching program management moments and either, either, or the other stuff which makes the 5000 miles worthwhile. You see, I know what you’re talking about, so lets work together on it and drag the collective understanding up out of the mind puddle of brain wrong. Never really thought schemas would be quite such an exciting prospect, but I mean, it all comes down to data models, right? Pass the spoons. That’s my silverware.

toy legs

Have I got toy legs? How am I supposed to sit at this desk for the rest of today? Kenny doesn’t sit at a desk, he kind of lies underneath it at an impossibly cool angle, with his fingers clawing up at the keyboard like some meticulous squirrel. I mean, it’s literally 2 feet high this thing. I just met some of my remote co-workers for the first time and they must of thought I was some kind of oversized ape in this bizarre toy cupboard office. Not the kind of first impression I was intending to make. Anyway, we’re out in Menlo Park tonight at some place which does good ‘an proper British food, right? I mean, I was at some Vietnamese place for lunch and now this. What’s it like over here? I’m gonna get a right fat one, I tell thee.

struck by lightning

to Nice this weekend then, which is nice. Sans children, not done for years. A couple of great friends getting married at Fayence, you see, at the beautiful 12th century Chapelle de Notre-Dame des Cyprès. We only had the local wine straight from the vineyard across the dusty road after service didn’t we? On a tressle. Sweet. Mind you, the goings on the night before were right mental, mate, I tell yer…

Straight into Nice Côte d’Azur airport on Friday night, on that there easyJet. Only cost us 17p. After reclaim de baggage we headed straight for the Europcar rental desk to begin our perfect weekend. Cross the arrivals lounge and through the car park in the balmy French evening air and everything is nifty. All smiles. All signing. But what’s that? Felt a touch of rain there. Ah, well, I just love getting caught in a warm summer shower. It’s so Frrrench. 20 paces later. What the..? Bleedin heavens open right up don’t they, and we’re lashing across to the poxy tent affair they have set up outside the desk. So I head in to the desk and natch, there’s about 20 other limp email printouts in front of me, tapping their Marlboro lights on the counter and threatening to lamp the guy behind the desk who’s saying “but we ‘ave non keeeys pour you”.

Anyway, cut a long one short, we got free upgrade to a Passat and headed into Nice to locate the Novotel. Neil, our mate, he’s got a booking at ‘Le Cheapo‘ by the train station, so we have to drop him first. Simple right? Well. 2 hours later, we’ve been driving the wrong way round Nice in the maddest thunderstorm ever, aquaplaning across 3 lines of traffic on the autoroute, and we’re not really getting any closer. We’ve got a multimap printout of 1 square kilometer, and we’ve never been on it. So, we’re just pulling out from between a derelict garage and a block of flats right, when THWACK, the loudest, most intense cracking noise you’ve ever heard, comes from the roof, and I’m thinking breezeblock launched from the 17th floor. By a bazooka. We look up for the house-shaped dent, but nothing. Oh well. We crack on. We’ll have a look in a minute. 30 seconds later, I’m driving the wrong way up some train tracks or something when I get a moment of clarity. “We just got struck by lightning“. All quiet. Then freakouts in the Passat and we’re swerving all over the Promenade des Anglais trying to jump out and stuff. Weirdness, I tell yer. We stopped after a bit and Neil pops out to take a shifty. “No dents mate, not a scratch. You know though, we’ve got a pretty big aerial”.

So that was that. We got struck by lightning and my teeth went a bit funny. Of course, being in a Volkswagen Faraday Cage meant it was ok, but, you know, at the time…

The wedding itself was perfect, and the weather Saturday & Sunday was spot on. On the Sunday, we headed to the seafront, to see the Nice Triathlon. I tried very hard to spot some Sun sponsorship, but it was mostly French television and carbon fibre, with a few ladies in swimsuits, which was nice.


…so I said to him, I said ‘I mean, good manners don’t cost nothing do they?’, and then he just went round the back to get his bike. Anyway, I was legging it pretty sharpish up them stairs, ’cause there was this bloke from the west end with some kind of ‘proposition’ like, you know. He’s going off and going on about some new thing he’s got going with a new pair of dimes or something and there’s Dave from the bookies giving me earache about the 3:10 at Newmarket and anyway, I said to him, I said, ‘listen Dave, do you think I got time to listen to your ‘ere tales of woe, when I got him upstairs with his ‘proposition’ mate? I mean, good manners don’t cost nothing, do they?’

So here I am up here with me mobile on one bar and me tea going cold and I’m trying to get these poxies sorted so that me old pc can watch this video and then blow me if the wife don’t just walk in and she’s saying ‘ooh, look that’s good. Who’s that? Is that a video?’ and it is a video and it’s this bloke I was telling you about on a kind of telly on my pc, which is a bit weird, but he goes on and I just sit there listening, right? Anyway, he goes on about this ‘new model’ and he keeps saying stuff about utility belts or something, and I’m not the brightest spark in the box, you know, so I didn’t understand a lot of that stuff, but I do know something about market traders, natch, so I got that bit and anyway, as it happens, even though I didn’t get it all, I just sat there watching, thinking ‘well, he knows what he’s talking about, clearly’ and it seemed to me that really, when you think it of, he’s right, right?

When I spoke to Dave about it down the pub later he said it was plain as day, ‘I mean’, he said, ‘it’s like paying to see the footy properly, innit? I mean, I don’t want to pay to get Man United, do I? I just want to pay for the Arsenal, right?’. So I guess it’s alright then. I also got 14-1 on the winner at the 4:00 at Aintree, ‘The Moderator’. Lovely