Liadnan

SixApart/Livejournal fucks up again...on the communication front if nothing else.

(1) (currently 42 pages of unimpressed comments)

(2) (Slashdot picks up)

(3) (Brad brought in to calm things down...)

Do we think Mr Fitzpatrick is perhaps becoming a mite pissed off with the people who bought his baby?

Not that I particularly give a toss about ads, or any of these kerfuffles myself, though I am mildly interested in this idea.

Totally unconnected, but a snippet from some "100 Best" thing on while I typed the above: "Chris de Burgh's Lady in Red is one of the few things I can think of that has no redeeming features whatsoever."

.. and then he drinks another gin drink. And then another gin drink. And then another gin drink. And then starts feeling miserable about Everything.

Has anyone ever investigated precisely how it is that Gin does this?

But doesn't have a hangover and spends the next evening on 12 star Metaxa, a wonderful intoxicant that should be more widely appreciated.

In other news, via John and Belle the depressing proof that Bono is still kind of a cock. Depressing because I'd kind of rediscovered (old) U2 recently. Now I'm reminded how exactly he managed to reach quite so far up my nose.

Ah well.

Ian McDonald has a livejournal. And pretty much all of you who might be interested in this already knew this, and had subscribed. Can you explain why, precisely, no one saw fit to tell me?

And there's a new Lindsey Davis. I managed to stick to my moratorium, but my suspicion, that Greece was pretty much the only bit of Vespasian's empire she hadn't touched yet and was therefore the likely new Abroad setting, has proved correct.

Daughter arrigned on murder charges

In a final entry last Thursday, Waterman wrote that her mother had been murdered and that she would not have computer access for a few days because police were confiscating it, KRBD reported.

Said last post is here.

I wonder whether livejournal are going to step in on this one. Those she lists as friends appear to be taking something of a battering too.

ETA: well, someone's locked it down.

Raed Jarrar,-who first came to the world's attention as the "Dear Raed" of Salaam Pax's blog, recently opened comments on his own blog. The result has been depressingly unsurprising

Boris (?: unsigned) puts his foot in it re: Ken Bigley and, more significantly, Hillsborough (free registration required, bugmenot probably has one).

Apology on behalf of Boris on his blog, with comments and trackbacks.

Earlier, pre-edit version of apology still (as of 16 Oct 2004 18:50) surviving through livejournal's syndication...

Hmm. I've always suspected Boris is a lot smarter than his deliberately concocted image (and a friend who was at school with him concurs). Now I'm much less sure, unless, as is being suggested, the author was someone else (apparently the favourite on some internet betting site is the obnoxious Mark Steyn).

Whatever. Off to Bradleys to drink and eat, in that order, with the usual suspects.

When I had big interweb put in many people, including Big Interweb Provider, told me to install a firewall. Which I duly did, for I am not a fool, though at some point I do need to persuade one of those Lovely Geeks among you to come round and check I am indeed not doing the internet equivalent of lying in a gutter near Kings Cross at 1AM on a Saturday morning, legs akimbo and shouting "come and take me Big Boy." But I digress.

The point is, I now realise that what I really need is a reverse firewall. Something that will stop me sending messages and posts out into the ether while drunk, or at least, while drunk and morose (for, I hasten to add, no particularly good reason), as I look back fondly at my dissertation on the Culture List dealing in extenso with the green lights around Canary Wharf Tower, written at 2AM after a particularly splendid Inn Dinner.

Perhaps I should abandon that line of thought. Let me instead share with you some Tube-Fu, used only this evening. When standing at Tottenham Court Road, the Tube-Master notices that the first train, to Edgware, is 5 minutes away, and the train after that is 6 minutes away, and also to Edgware. The wise man knows that the better course is to hang back and take the second train. (If one wishes to go to Edgware, obvs. If one wanted the High Barnet branch it might still be the right train, but there would be other variables.)

But the true Tube-Master knows better. The true Tube-Master remains in the body of the crowd as though intending to take the first train. But when it arrives he carefully manipulates his approach so that the person before him is the last person on the train. As the rammed tube crawls away into the darkness, the true Tube-Master is left not only with a minute to wait for a near-empty tube, but at the front of the waiting crowd and able to position himself perfectly on the expected point of opening of the doors (if heading for Chalk Farm from TCR, the trailing edge of the lead door... oh, don't ask, it mainly has to do with where the people coming off will head).

The ultimate True Tube Master can then exchange congratulatory smiles with the Other True Tube Master next to him. If she is a cute woman, so much the better.

Writing this while vaguely watching re-runs of Sex and the City series one. Much more interesting back then, and intriguing to see how the style changed: much more narrated through the medium of Carrie's column back then.

There are barristers in this inn who are younger than I am but seem to make a point of looking about 45. And a boring 45 at that, none of Alan's air of having lived life to the full. Christ, while I agree it's important to look professional when dealing with clients or in court, and long hair and jewellery on men don't go down too well in the High Court, there's a difference between that and looking like a total dweeb every hour of every working day.

Just went to the bank to pick up some foreign currency I ordered yesterday for a forthcoming Adventure (for various reasons I shan't explain more until it's happened).

Turns out they had a Real Proper Heist this morning, security van taken at gunpoint an' all. One knows these things happen but I'm still slightly taken aback when they happen Here! In High Holborn! To My Money!

Edited to Add, since this is a run-of-the-mill ramshackle bits and bobs post.. Confess Here To Being BelledeJour. Brilliant. (See here if you're confuserated.)

I feel like shite and I have a nominal trial tomorrow in Cambridge (nominal in that we've resolved everything except costs). Bah humbug.

I discovered via a chance-heard thing on Radio 4 that Bill Bailey has a weblog, here . The comments alone make it worth reading. Doesn't seem to be an RSS feed sadly, but Black Books 3 will be on Channel 4 next month, apparently.

I went over to Soho for lunch, for various reasons. As I was coming out, thinking about anything and everything save what I was doing and where I was going (about Part 48 of the Civil Procedure Rules, mainly; a recipe for brain damage if ever there was one) I bumped into a shortish man who was also not looking where he was going (the Coach and Horses as it turned out). He looked vaguely familiar so I smiled at him as I began to mutter apologies.. it wasn't until he cut in with "my fault" that I realised it was Ian Hislop, presumably on his way to the notorious Private Eye lunch. Hurrah. I make a habit of this actually: it is but a few months since I came round the corner by The Ivy and cannoned straight into El Paxman. Who is much taller than one would imagine. (Entirely my fault that time.)

You should try it, it's much more entertaining than ordinary slebspotting.

Culture peeps say hi to Rparvaaz by the way.