by Suw on August 28, 2003
Why am I up at this hour? Why did I wake at 7? Why is it going to rain today? And why does the Coke I bought yesterday taste so horrendously disgusting this morning? Still, I need the caffeine.
Also, why does the post I posted at 1.15am this morning show up as posted yesterday? Seems quite strange. Always suspected that the Blog-City server doesn't know what day it is. Hell, I don't know what day it is, but then I've got a good excuse.
Right… packing… onwards and, er, onwards…
by Suw on August 28, 2003
Today, the Blogging Forecast is many short, pointless posts throughout the day, until NTL come and take my modem away late this afternoon, at which point blogging will cease. Blogging may be resumed Friday afternoon or evening, although the hiatus may persist into Saturday morning. Or afternoon. Or maybe Sunday. It all depends on a) whether I wake up at all on Saturday, b) whether my old modem will decide to work with my new motherboard (I haven't tested it yet, so it may decide to sulk instead) and c) er, make up your own c).
This Blogging Forecast was brought to you by the International Blogological Office, who accept absolutely no responsibility for anything at all ever. If you end up with a kitten up your nose, don't blame us.
by Suw on August 28, 2003
Just popped out to buy yet more archive boxes. I already have 26, filled and stacked in the kitchen. I would say I have at least another five or so to go. First, though, I have to finish up designing an ad for my Mum. Ooh, the excitment. How will I stay calm?
Just to prove a point, though, that I've been meeting more people in Reading in the last month than in the last three years that I've lived here, today I had my first conversation with Rob, the lock keeper's assistant. Nice guy. Don't know why I didn't talk to him at the beginning of the summer when he first started working here. Shy, maybe. (Me or him? Dunno. You figure it out.)
Sod's law, isn't it?
by Suw on August 28, 2003
Why is a box of magazines heavier than a box of the same size filled with books? Do magazines use particularly dense paper or something? Or maybe magazines have some sort of wormhole link to a parallel universe from which they suck in extra matter to bulk themselves out. Which means somewhere, an alternative me is busy packing away lots of magazines and thinking 'Hm, that's odd. How is it that all these magazines weigh so little? This box of books is so much heavier yet it's exactly the same size.'
I am a little ashamed, however, at discovering just how many copies of Scientific American I have which remain still in their wrappings, unread. There are a fair few untouched copies of New Scientist too. I just haven't had the time over the last several months to sit and read stuff. I've much to keep my eyes occupied when I get back to Dorset, though. Not to mention all those scripts I've promised to review on Zoetrope.
by Suw on August 28, 2003
When I arranged for NTL to come and pick up my modem, they promised that they'd leave it as late as possible. Now it's 4pm and I wonder how much longer I shall have my connection.
Please! Don't take my baby away! Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase!
*wahhh wahhh wahhhhhh*
Course the fact that I can actually blog again tomorrow from my Dad's laptop doesn't make me feel the slightest bit better. It's now I want my connection! Not tomorrow! I've emailed people who might reply!!
*rolls eyes*
Oh dear.
by Suw on August 28, 2003
The man from NTL rang and said that he'd be here within the hour. I feel like I should go on some sort of manic downloading spree whilst I have the chance. I can't think of anything big I want to download though. So I'll just post this last entry and leave it at that.
Next time you hear from me I will have left Black Duck, the Thames, the Kennet and Blake's Lock behind. I shall no longer be complaining about how heartless Reading is, taking quick trips up to London or drooling over things I wish I had the money to buy in Muji.
Instead, I'll be staring out over the fields of east Dorset, fluffy black and white moggy curled up on my keyboard, stacks of boxes behind me. I'll be searching for a job and wondering how fast I can get my arse out of Dorset. My Mum will attempt to feed me every time I stick my head out of my office door, my Dad will attempt to engage me in conversation regarding whatever freaky new airplane he's read about in Aviation Week, or whatever. Neither will ever quite succeed as much as they would like.
Still, it could be worse.
I could be moving to Wolverhampton.
Or Swindon.
