Day 318, Resistance is something or other

Futile, is that it?  Resistance?

Never mind, that's a digression.

I've finally got around to soldering the resistors onto the mainboard of the Micro Kim.

The delay in starting was due to refining the extractor system.  The nose of the extractor can be seen peeking in at the right.  Rather than having bits of wire poked into the end of the power adaptor to supply the fans I decided to build a proper interface, which included a socket for the power 'in'.  Very hi-tech. (not really)

It isn't at all exciting and there is nothing really to see. 

Therefore the image below is that of some resistors only.  Which is waaay more exciting than the power connector.

The extractor system is very effective and no fumes were detected anywhere else in the house.  My nose was virtually touching the soldering iron while I did this and I barely noticed any fumes there either, so that is a success.

The next components to add will be the diodes and the keypad buttons.

It's like doing a very nearly 3D jigsaw, with extreme heat, and poisonous fumes.  And therefore much more satisfying.

I now need a lie down.

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 317, So you're a simulation, so what

Waking.  All the things are in the right place.

Arms.  Legs.  Feet, hands and head.

The floor feels like the floor.  And does so all the way to the bathroom.

The stream of urine makes the right sound.

And there's a faint smell, not distinct like after eating asparagus but that of a gentle reminder of a beery night.

Moving from room to room the usual and normal sensation of reality continues.

It doesn't prove anything, it could all be a simulation.  Albeit a very impressive and complex one.

But then again who am I to know how complex or impressive, all the signals being sent to the nerve receptors are just signals.

Just signals.

Every day, the same question, "is it real?"

Is it real?

The accuracy.

Even down to the coffee stains.

Hold on...

But I don't drink coffee.

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 316, House, home, life maintenance

Owning a building brings a certain amount of maintenance, otherwise the thing might eventually decay to the point where it doesn't fulfil its purpose.

What a lot of maintenance this châteaux owner has to make.  Although the problems below aren't due to neglect or lurking problems that have suddenly rapidly developed.  Unless that sudden rapid development includes invading German forces.

And your home is then redeveloped into a pile of rubble.

This building took some damage, the occupants may have too.  And perhaps the occupants were forced to move elsewhere.

The former occupants might have moved in locally, down the road somewhere.  Or possibly they were forced further afield, or maybe even had to go overseas.

You do what you have to do.

And sometimes it's not possible to return, repair, or rebuild.

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 315, Never knowingly overwhelmed

Just taken a trip into the Total Perspective Vortex.

And it was pretty neat.

However it is generally not usual for anyone to survive, in fact only Zaphod Beeblebrox has done so.

Perhaps this was a fake TPV as it is only possible to survive with an ego which is at least equal to the size of the universe.

And that doesn't apply to me.

In actual fact it was only a very small TPV, which was restricted to a size not much greater than that of a standard office block.

Filled with special challenges.

Which had been sharpened slightly.

To a point.

But there's a survival mechanism which kicks in in my case.

This is a mechanism which divides the perceived problem repeatedly, until it is of manageable size.

Once at manageable size there is no longer any perceptible danger.

And the hazard can be swept under the carpet.

Or is this the result of delusions brought on by consumption of much of a sheet of acid blotters.

Whoaaaaaaaa.

Trip.

Sheet of blotters, or central reservation, take your pick

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 314, "nah then mate, do you wanna buy a bike?"

On the way home from the pub a voice appears from the darkness.

"Nah then mate, do you wanna buy a bike?"

I'm a motorcyclist, I like motorbikes, you never know what my answer to that question might be.

Though not generally in the market for random bike sales but let's hear what the mystery vendor has to say.

The bike was a bit of a battered thing, perhaps fifteen or nearly twenty years old, both side panels were the wrong colour, the seat mainly made of gaffer tape.

"It's not in bad nick is it?"

"No, not bad", I replied.

"He only wants 200 quid for it."

"Really? Is that all?"

"Yeah, he wants a quick sale."

"Does he?"

By this point it would only be fair to point out that I smelled a rat.

I may have been returning from the local real ale outlet but my senses were not completely gone.

"Yeah, not bad is it, I'd have it myself if I had the money."

"Ok," I replied, "what I want you to do is this ..."

"... Do not, ever, ever again, offer my motorbike to anyone for sale, do you understand?"

"Er ..."

"And, if anything happens to my motorbike I will hold you personally responsible, I will find you and I will extract your teeth using a torque wrench, and I will then staple your eyelids to your front door, do you understand?"  Is what I said, or words very similar to that effect.

"Yes, sorry, I'm really sorry, er ..."

"Good.  Now fuck off."

Can anyone resist a V4?

And then he got into the car next to my bike, where his mate - one of my neighbours - was sitting.

I still have the bike, it is now over thirty years old.

For official/internal use only:
7576

0-9

Day 313, Not that subject again?

Apologies if I've said this before.

I used to know someone that repeated themselves.

It wasn't apparent at first, but over time the same things would keep on coming round.

Not just the odd phrase or a variation on a story, but entire stories.

Probably more than stories, more like performances, with every intonation, aside, laugh and comment identical each time.

When my Grandmother was well into her eighties she used to repeat things.

Often many times during a single visit.  Part of the ageing process, gradual dementia.

But not like this story repetition, this was due to having a limited supply of stories.

Having more stories would be the answer.

Maybe they have more stories now.

It becomes tedious hearing the same stories again and again, even when the stories are good.

It is important to always keep adding stories.

Life changes the context, people eventually may not understand your old stories.

It isn't always possible to provide context to help them understand stories, there may be such a gulf.

And so it is important to always keep adding stories.

Adding experiences.

Adding layers.

Adding depth.

Apologies if I've said this before.

I used to know someone that repeated themselves.

For official/internal use only:
6463

0-9

Day 312, Opera, island, destruction, survival

Here's an example of destruction of a cultural artefact during war.  Obviously human life is always a greater loss that that of an inanimate object, but the impact of the destruction of cultural symbols is a known psychological technique.

This is The Royal Opera House, Valetta, Malta.  It is one of the few opera houses I've been in.  As the Luftwaffe destroyed it in April 1942 it didn't actually count as an opera house at the time of my visit.

The Luftwaffe attempted to starve and bomb Malta in to submission.  The island was one of the most intensively bombed areas during the entire war.  Malta was primarily bombed due to the strategic importance the island had rather than for reasons of infrastructure.  There were 1581 civilian casualties on the island during the course of the Second World War.

Here the inside of the opera house is being used as a car park, prior to being reborn as an open-air theatre.

The only other opera house I've visited was La Scala, Milan, which was a fully functional building, apart from the brass screw that fell out of a door handle on the Royal Box when we went in.

If they want the screw back...


Here's a view along the inside of the frontage of the opera house.

And this is a view of the opera house when it was still intact.  A fine looking building.

The opera house had been around for only about 75 years when it was destroyed, and the Maltese seem fairly sanguine about the loss.  The loss of artefacts thousands of years old might be handled in a less relaxed manner.

For official/internal use only:
7574

0-9

Day 311, Never ending task

Like the once never ending task of repainting a world heritage site, such as The Forth Bridge as seen below, our current data migration tasks at work are tediously ongoing.

The upside is that we are moving to a more flexible and manageable platform, the downside is that all other work and jobs are still continuing, which is significantly short of ideal.

The bridge is now painted in some form of long lasting coating, it should be twenty years before it needs another application.

Our storage, once we are migrated across, will require much less effort to move data in future.  Unless there is a need for a complete technology and vendor refresh, in which case it will be an immensely larger and more invasive job than the one we are currently engaged in.

There are about 20 mobile phone pictures of the transit across the bridge, I was hoping for Google to try and "auto awesome panorama" it in some way, but I didn't get enough overlap.

Auto-awesome is something I'm looking out for in our ability to manage our new storage.

For official/internal use only:
7575

0-9

Day 310, Big old metal Brunel ship

Pictured below are some enormous chains and ropes.  Not the site of some well equipped fetish-factory but the sort of large pile of kit that the huge headed and tall-hat wearing Isambard Kingdom Brunel would have had his portrait taken in front of.

No surprise there really as this is in Bristol, and the photo was taken from IKB's ship the SS Great Britain.  The first ship to have both a metal hull and a propellor.  One thing the great chap missed out of his design that would have improved the passage of those on board was a keel.  As it was this mass of metal would have bobbed around in the ocean like a cork, lacking any stabilising effect whatsoever having what was effectively a rounded bottom.  There would have been vomit from all corners of the vessel, ideal on those long voyages.

Here is a pleasant view from amidships, vomit-free.  It is noticeable that there is a slight roll taking place already, and that's with mill pond sea and the entire thing in dry dock.  Really, he would be kicking himself if he were alive today.

At 98 metres long, with up to 700 passengers and crew, 1 cow, 3 bullocks, 150 sheep, 30 pigs, 500 chickens, 400 ducks, 100 geese, 50 turkeys, at least one cat and numerous rats, not to mention the feed for all of the livestock, biscuit weevils, passengers and crew, this vessel must push the Irish Rover for implausible cargo.

And what a beauty regardless of all of that.

For official/internal use only:
7676

0-9

Day 309, Storm Bringer

At around the time when there would have been a second post, the storm arrived.

No one to carry it but the shimmering wings of an overheated wind.

At first tentative, a few dark clouds would obscure the sun.

The heat still baking.

Then the sun back dazzling, burning.

Then the rain, coming down as heavy as that of a backlot 1950s B-movie sob scene with clichéd, over-emphasised, pathetic fallacy as the would-be starlet blows the audition a third of the way in.

But the heat.

On it comes, sticky, cloying, energy sapping.

Even still in the downpour.

"I'll pour a pint of tap water over my head, and then drink the next."

Then a cup of tea.

And the thunder plays on.

Storm Bringer rides the rainbow, cutting a swathe through the elements, rattling your tiles, and generally taking the piss out of our thoughts of summer.

Batten down the hatches, for now, and forever.

For official/internal use only:
7676

0-9

Day 308, Scary monsters

Always with the topical references, here's a scary monster from the Halloween.

Woooooooo.

Etc.

I've been to the pub, there is no excuse, but what strange things I did see on the walk home.

12 foot tall gentlemen with monocles striding down secret walkways.

Discarded loon pants in car parks that would have graced svelte figures from the 70s such as Marc Bolan.

Orbs, enormous great orbs, hovering over the discarded outbuildings belonging to dentists from the home counties.

Now.

Hang on.

Was it the pub or was it a gathering of worshipers of the magic mushroom.

Frankly, my clue is nonexistent.

Batten down the hatches, there may be a storm coming.

None of this is Freudian - does anyone still believe any of that stuff?

Sometimes a hovering orb is just a hovering orb.

For official/internal use only:
7678

0-9

Day 307, Sandymount Avenue, Stanmore HA7

If you ever drive down to that London then you'll have to park somewhere.  And of course, there is barely anywhere to park.

Way out in the suburbs, not far away from a tube station, how about that?

Ideal.

But what if you forget where you are parked?

Here's a handy tip, why not use GPS?  Or failing that take a photograph of a junction near where you have planted the car.

Welcome to Sandymount Avenue, HA7, in a place called Stanmore.

Houses round here go for over £500,000.  That's over half a million quid, and taking a quick streetview tour as a reminder they look very similar to houses on Halifax Road, Sheffield S6 1AA where the typical price is in the region of £120,000.  That's less than a quarter of the London house price.

The houses maybe cheaper on Halifax Road but they don't have quite the same access to Wembley Stadium via tube train that is available in Stanmore.

Swings and roundabouts hey.

There's no reason why going to that London, to Wembley, on 26 may 2012 should hold any particular relevance to anything.

Bloody penalty shoot-outs.  Bah.

For official/internal use only:
7675

0-9

Day 306, Server fail, dive dive dive

Schnell!  Schnell!  Kartoffelkopf.

Here we have a server that decided to give up the ghost, almost certainly issuing itself the German command above.

Quickly!  Quickly!  Potatohead.

If you are of an analytical bent, or have some curiosity aligned with the right bits of knowledge, then you might have spotted something.

In this instance the server has given up the ghost due to a problem encountered in AFPTCP.NLM.

What's that all about then?

Ok, let's dispense with the suffix NLM first.  That stands for Netware Loadable Module, these are effectively executable files in the Netware operating system.

The server Operating System here is Netware 6.5 SP8, the last in the long line of versions of Novell Netware.  Netware was once the top of the tree of network operating systems used for file sharing, printing, and other things that we don't need to mention.

This OS goes end of life on December 31 2015, unless it gets yet another stay of execution.  The replacement for it now runs a version of the Netware kernel under Suse Linux Enterprise Server.

However, that's not the point, what about the rest of this AFPTCP bit then?

The AFPTCP part stands for Apple File Protocol Transmission Control Protocol.  The module runs on the Netware server to provide connectivity for Apple Macs running Apple File Protocol.

The problem highlighted in the screen shown is that the server side can't deal very well with unexpected results received in a packet sent by AFP from a Mac.  It also suggests that something has been sent by the Mac that was not clearly defined in the AFP specification and the implementation has not remained consistent between Mac updates.

It would be preferable if the server was robust enough to deal with this and just discard the packet, but no, it tries to deal with it and gets itself in a tangle, for shame.  It would also be preferable if the company designing the protocol implemented it consistently, but, they are in charge of the specification...

Anyway, Apple are deprecating AFP and will be standardising on the Windows file sharing protocol, CIFS/SMB.

This server side problem was not only caused by AFP.  As the server in this case was also running CIFS there would be times when a poor implementation of that protocol on a non-Windows device or gadget could trigger a similar server response.

So in each case the poor implementation of a protocol on a device interacts with the poor implementation on the server, and so unpleasantness ensues.  However in both cases the server should really have handled it in a much better manner.

None of these problems arose when using the native protocol of the server operating system to connect, Netware Core Protocol.  But people often object to installing a piece of software or 'client' on their desktop to add this functionality - an in built 'client' such as AFP or SMB/CIFS is never really recognised as being such as it is there natively, and indeed that is much less invasive from the point of view of you the human.

As we move away from delivering file services via this method, and to a more seamless, robust, and native SMB/CIFS on the server side too, then these type of problems really should be ancient history.  Just as 12:30:48 am BST on 4 October 2012 now seems like ancient history to me.

Of course, in the world of systems stability, your mileage may vary...

For official/internal use only:
7575

0-9

Day 305, Arts Tower recursion

Arts Tower recursion.

Or perhaps it's regression.

This is a picture of the 20 floor Arts Tower at The University of Sheffield.

This photograph was taken on floor 18 of the Arts Tower.

If you look closely you'll be able to see me waving from one of the windows.

I am also screaming.

Infinitely.

And silently.

In the closing titles of The Twilight Zone.

As the waving me becomes of ever decreasing size.

And as Rod Serling speaks into your ear "... you know what they'd say, and you know they'd be right too, because seeing is not always believing, especially if what you happen to see is an odd corner ... of the twilight zone", you decide not to mention it.

Cosmic, as various old hippies might say..

For official/internal use only:
7575

0-9

Day 304, Bristol Temple Meads panorama

The city of a million Shaun the Sheep.

A city built on slavery and sea trade.

And now it turns out that there is an historic connection as a strand of the family originated there in the 1800s before a move to that London.

This jet set lifestyle is something a person could get used to - although replacing the word 'jet' with 'train' reflects the reality.

This train set lifestyle is something a person could get used to - on second thoughts that doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

Anyway, it was all very enjoyable and good fun.  And there was even enough time to see that wonder of the age by Mr Brunel, the SS Great Britain, the first ship to combine a propeller and an iron hull.  Well worth going to visit - you wouldn't get me going to Australia or crossing the Atlantic in a vessel like that, no chance, and not just because of the numerous rust-holes in the iron hull.

Here's the railway station in a view from platform 3 while waiting for the iron horse to take us home.

Panoramic pictures are always bothersome when there is limited screen acreage.  However, one click on the image below will reveal all - never mind the quality, feel the width.

For official/internal use only:
7788

0-9

Day 303, Station approach

The Sheffield Station approach.

As seen when leaving the station but you turn round and have a glance back.

Hey, where's the water gone?

But how delightful it is regardless of the lack of water.

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 302, An offer you can't refuse

Supermarket offers are usually bogus mechanisms for improving turnover of stock and packing landfill sites with discarded, uneaten, out of date food.

Here we see SPAR making us an offer we can't refuse.

You have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull the wool over my eyes.

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 301, Homelessness on the rise

A terrible example.  But here we can see a large number of the homeless, some of them Santas, huddling together for warmth and comfort during the harsh winter months.

How they come to meet up like this annually is not yet understood by science.

Perhaps there is some form of internal GPS system at work, or maybe one eye sensitive to magnetic fields, all able to guide the homeless to a place of congregation.

Some with ill fitting, hand-me-down jeans, many of them unable to stand.  It is a sorry state of affairs, for one of the richest countries in the world, to have such an example of waste and loss right here on our doorstep.

What can be done?

Well the answer to that ought not to be charity, and the government should ensure that society assists those that have fallen through the net, for whatever reason, by making sure that taxation is set at a level which enables us behave in a humane and caring way towards our fellow humans.

Hang on a minute, I've just put my specs on, are these actually just young people in fancy dress?

Even so, they probably still need our help.

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 300, Walking, Towing men - anniversary special

Look, look, more pairs of men towing cases.  One of them even has TWO cases.

The excitement is palpable, my Eye Spy book gives me 300 points for spotting pairs of people of the same sex towing suitcases in the sunlight.

There are no additional points for one person with a pair of wheeled cases.

It is fitting for the 300th day that such an event should have occurred.  On the same day.  Not photographed on a different day and then just used on this day.  No.  Not that.

Very fitting indeed.

Awesome.


At some point no doubt I'll have collected the full set of pairs of people towing cases.

There's no rush.

Perhaps by the 3000th anniversary day.

For official/internal use only:
8787

0-9

Day 299, The Post Office Tower, day and night

Night and day, you are the one.

A 177 metre tall dark stranger looming over the city.
Part rotator, though not so much any more now there's no restaurant with public access.

An official secret until 1993, and wasn't shown on OS maps before then.  This was probably due to it being a giant sonic screwdriver left by The Doctor to protect London against marauding forces, cosmic or otherwise.  Clearly this didn't really work as the IRA used techniques to defeat it when they planted a bomb there in 1971.

Suffering a number of name changes, for me it will always be The Post Office Tower - which can be shortened to TPOT, pronounced Teapot.  How could the name ever be improved, answer me that, huh?  Don't answer, it can't.

So here it is by day, in the roaring traffic's boom.

Day and night, night and day.

And from the silence of my lonely room.

Day and night, night and day.

For official/internal use only:
8675

0-9

Day 298, A fall, a bump, a tropical spider

40 plus years on and 70 plus kilos greater in weight, with a physical cellular mass that has completely changed many times over, what memory of this event that occurred in 1971 (or 1972) is retained and what was the impact.

What memory is there that isn't reconstructed, or is it recreated afresh with every retelling?

Presumably Locke would have something to say about the identity of the self in this instance. Although he wouldn't be familiar with the modern understanding that shows memory of events to be multifaceted and deeply ingrained in many parts of the brain, rather than something replayed in the manner of a cinematic projection.

All that aside - The strength of the memory of the size of the bump on my head.  The tautness of the skin on the bruise.  The waves of pain that radiate down and outward.  These are all there and easily recalled when the memory is only lightly touched.

In some retellings the memory of the event being directly opposite the Children's Hospital stands out.  In others it's climbing on the war memorial with a friend, about a mile from home.  What was the weather like - beyond it not raining, no idea.  In some the memory is of being back at home in the kitchen on Kelvin Flats with people saying the bruise was the size of an egg.  Another retelling has the kitchen, the bunch of bananas, and the tropical spider that decided that the bunch was no longer the ideal home.

But in the prime retelling it is where the bump on the head caused a change in consciousness, causing greater receptivity to the subsequent spider bite, which then conveyed the super-power of being able to exactly duplicate the Māori word used in The Lone Ranger by Quantum Jump, that being the longest word in the world.

Obviously people thought that my speaking in tongues was gibberish until the song came out in 1976.  So after that nobody thought my behaviour was in any way odd, no, not at all.

So that's the fall, the bump, and the spider, and how it relates to memory, and personal identity.  The impact is both literal and metaphorical, to be clear.


And here's the bit of war memorial where the incident occurred as pictured today.

For official/internal use only:
7777

0-9

Day 297, Get on with it, a guru speaks

Head down and just get on with it.

Or.

Lift your head up and get on with it.

Or.

Lift your head up, look around, determine whether what you are doing makes any sense in the wider context.  If it does, get on with it.  If not, why?

Point out assumptions.

Question.

Keep questioning.

You have to care about what you are doing otherwise you won't be committed to it.


But isn't all of that self evident?  If not I'll pad it out with another 45000 words and get it published as the latest self help phenomenon.

Or package it as a pithy epithet in a funky-font against a background of an appropriate photograph, sprinkle on some schmaltz, and post to Facebook.

Bucolic, semi-pastoral photograph befitting the background of a nauseating aphorism

Alternatively, at typical guru lecture rates that'll be £5975 please.

For official/internal use only:
8787

0-9

Day 296, “What we mourn for the dead is the loss of their hopes”

As I posted my aunt's birthday card, for what would once have been a twin anniversary, the quote seemed particularly poignant.

I came across the quote while reading some of John Berger shortly after hearing Clive James being interviewed.  Clive James is terminally ill and in what time he has left he's been writing, talking, making his peace with the world, and retaining a sense of humour.

There is a connection between the two artists/writers/poets, of sorts.  James states in one of his Observer television reviews:

"Give or take the odd anatomical discrepancy, John Berger affects me exactly like Jane Fonda - i.e. any opinion of mine which I discover he shares I immediately examine to find out what's wrong with it."

It has the nature of a sound-bite, it encapsulates an opinion and is nicely delivered in a humorous style, which is why it lives on outside the original review.  I can imagine a scene of James having to examine his opinions at regular intervals while Berger carries on in his French farm house oblivious to the activity - there may be arm-waving by both.

Perhaps there's a greater poignancy with regard to the quote and the increasing proximity to both of the above artists (indeed all of our) demise, or perhaps I'm just a sentimental fool.

Let's reject sentimentality for the sake of itself and just get on with doing, perhaps that might save other people having regret for our unfulfilled hopes when we've buggered off for good.






Here's a scene of continuous beauty, a Sheffield river, almost in the city centre.

Let's enjoy it while we have it.

For official/internal use only:
7788

0-9