A Donkey on the Edge

Just wanted to extend some sympathy to Tom, who has been burglared. It happened to me in New York and I know exactly what you mean about the camera, Tom.

It's one thing being violated. You can still feel the presence of the other person in the building. It's quite another experiencing what that stumbling, brutal act does to the peaceful network of emotional connections that live, unnoticed in our homes. Tom, you can't have your thirtieth birthday back, but hopefully, you still have many of your friends.

As I write this I am reminded of another emotion I hadn't felt since the day I walked out of my house to find my bike had vanished. On that occasion, I stood there for a few minutes, pitifully staring at the empty spot of road where baby had been parked (my black, 1981, z1000J2) and Lenny Henry walked past carrying flowers and followed by two little girls in pretty dresses, he was off to a friend's wedding at the church at the end of Brook Green. Our eyes met and I think he understood what had happened to me...

...but I was describing the emotion—it's like having your stomach removed in many small sequential operations. I had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of a loud bang in the basement. I was sleeping in a room on the top floor of the Upper West Side brownstone and cursed my flat mates. The next morning I went downstairs and didn't notice any of my stuff had gone. It took a good 45 minutes before I completely realised what had happened.

All my worldly possessions were packed up ready for my move home and some shit had hacked through all the bags and boxes searching for valuables, leaving the odd pile of stuff here and there on the ground floor (it was a big brownstone). I hope I never have to go through that series of negative revelations again:-(

It sounds like Tom has some things to help with his recovery—The Met have actually fingerprinted his flat and it looks like he might have been able to ID the chap who came through the window.

Tom, I hope they nail the bastard.

Just ordered Adrian Frutiger's l'Homme et ses signes in a rather delicious edition by Atelier Perrousseaux. I believe he wrote the original in German, but this edition from 2000 updates and refines the French edition of 1983 (and I suppose he would have written in French rather than English...)

I ordered it from amazon.fr and when I got to the checkout and saw the familiar logon, I assumed that I'd have to create a duplicate account for the French company. But woohoo:-) my .co.uk user/pass work fine, all the customer database details (inc. credit card) are pan-national (odd, as SKU data does not appear to be shared by the main application). I don't know if this is even legal? In any case, it makes ordering French books for little Clem a breeze:-)

I've been getting news of display problems. Apparently, these pages are not completely rendering in IE5 mac and IE5Win98. I'm having a hard time isolating the problem, so/05/have to revert to a cheesier stylesheet that I'm pretty sure works ok...

Before I do, if anyone out there can reproduce the bug in a consistent way, I'd appreciate it if you dropped me a note.

Well, haven't posted much recently, I've been working like a dog—sleeping three or four hours and getting straight back to the computer. No fun (Jack dull boy)...

Yesterday took Nick down to Chelsea to see Bobbie Joy, her acupuncturist. Both her wrists have gradually seized up since having Clem. At first she thought it was a residual problem from the drip, but it now affects both left and right sides and the pain is completely debilitating (she can't pick up Clem without wincing).

She's just had x-rays of her wrist as the nhs attempts to give her some relief. It occurs to me at this point that the x-ray machine probably costs a fortune, the floor space at the Royal Free were it lives probably costs a fortune and if it weren't for the chronically underpaid nhs staff that operates it, the machine would be unusable.

Anyway, the good news is that Nick's acupuncture treatment appears to be working, and at a fraction of the cost of the x-ray technology.

So I drove her down to Chelsea and then took Clemmie for a stroll in Hyde Park. This is my favourite part, I stick her in the Bjorn (a harness-type-thing) and she faces frontwards so she can look at the world(which is all new to her). I can then walk around talking to her about plants, trees cars and whatever else we bump into.

So there we are, the two of us walking past the French consulate, through the gates and across the horse track, except at the last minute a police BMW pulls up right in front of me and stops us. I protest, pointing out that they can't just stop pedestrians on a whim and the man tells me it's Brenda and Phil.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the royal limo shows up and Clementine gets to wave at Her Britannic Majesty. At point blank range:-)

Have just watched the twenty-two episodes of West Wing's first series. I have to say, DVDs of favourite televisions shows rock. Now if I could only get someone to buy me the whole Star Trek collection I could fester on the couch forever;-)

Have never watched Parky til now. Saw Bowie and Hanks a couple of weeks ago and am currently listening to Fry and Williams. I think I can safely say that Parky is the daddy.

News for Clem fans and followers...

Thursday 3rd October Clem had her first 'solid' food (baby rice, which is breast milk mixed up with cooked, ground rice) and 26 September was the day she first rolled on to her front. She has been grunting and huffing a lot lately as she struggles to sit up (goes slightly pink in the face in the process). She can now roll back on to her back but hasn't quite mastered getting her arm clear. six out of ten times she rolls over onto one of her arms, gets stuck and sort of lies there grunting, although it looks like she'll be working that one out any day now:-)

breast pads
bra
birkenstocks…

Nicki and Clementine are off to Scotland for the week. Hopefully, in time, daughter will travel lighter than mother;-)

mobile
monitor…

I came home from the train station with a secret plan to smoke a gorgeous cuban cigar in the bath while reading the newspaper cover to cover with no disturbance but in the end I already miss little Clemmie:-(

I sat next to her in the train before it took off and nibbled her little feet (she giggles now, which along with smiling is just one of those things you need to have a lot of before you die) and rocked her in her car seat. I sort of felt like I was going to cry but I thought that might upset her. In the end, she looked a little upset anyway, but this could easily have been due to poop in nappy as much as hunger, boredom or tiredness...

But I will get a lot of reading done this week. Bought Simon Singh's Fermat's Last Theorem, plan to finish Daniel Pennac's La Petite Marchande de Prose (not as rewarding as his other books for some reason, but am determined to give it a fair shake) and plan to re-read all my Dawkins, starting out of order with The Blind watchmaker. You've got to love a guy who claims to know what the meaning of life is. Of course, now that Clem is here, I think his theory is pretty bulletproof;-)

I was catching up with my newspaper reading this evening, when I came across a story which describes in coherent terms what I was talking about in the earlier post re Baader-Meinhof, Carlos et al.

I love the comments about young'uns wearing crush velvet flares and Ray-Bans à la Andreas Baader

...an extraordinary revival in Germany of 'Terror Chic'. The catwalks are full of the crushed velvet flares and Ray-Bans favoured by Baader, the red RAF star adorns T-shirts, and one fashion designer has even adopted the provocative slogan 'Prada-Meinhof'

Am off to see Woody Harrelson and Kyle MacLachlan in 'On An Average Day.' Reviews are good—will report back:-)

Also, if anyone has tickets for Simon Rattle on Friday that they can't use, I'll happily buy them off you (but what are the chances of that happening)

On the theme of selfish pleasures, I picked up a Playstation 2 a few weeks back. The replays in Gran Turismo are just too gorgeous for words. Take your Tommy Makinen Evo VII around Tokyo special stage 11 in the middle of the night, then sit back and enjoy:-) There are flashbulbs going off in the audience, amazing atmospherics, reflections, lens flare and lighting effects are everywhere. This has to be one of the most well designed pieces of software ever :-)

And where else can you tank around a test track in a 600bhp Nismo Skyline at 320kph (that's three hundred and twenty kilometers per hour) in perfect safety?

There is no way this really works, is there?

...Place the radio on the tinfoil, as shown in the picture, and use the rubber bands or string (E) to fix the radio onto the board. At this point, both antennas should be vertical to the board. The radio's antenna should be extended fully while the second antenna should be slightly lower that that of the radio's.

Your system is ready to use.

You know, there's nothing more pitiful than an empty cot:-(

Clementine's little bed has been living next to ours—they say babies shouldn't sleep alone until they're six months old—and I've gotten used to looking over and seeing her through the bars. I'm toying with the idea of chucking work in and heading off to Scotland to be with my girls...

They don't keep their software up to date in a way that is useful to the user, but I won't go there…

If you are an OSX user and need updates to Illustrator (the Pantone data that shipped with 10.0.1 was woefully inaccurate) you are now asked to register. In particular, the download sequence requires a postcode, which IMHO is downright cheeky as this ain't no shareware shit honey. I've shelled and shelled again (imagine my surprise when I spent hard currency on Acrobat 10 only to discover that Distiller only runs in Classic) and have also registered my copies of Adobe software. I'm sorry, this is a hustle, and it pisses me off (yes I know, I could put a fake postcode in but it's the principle of the thing)

So I thought I'd post the following:

ftp://ftp.adobe.com/

this takes you to the public ftp server at the level of application listings, follow the links to your desired update at your leisure:-) Now, let's see how long they keep public ftp going…

Once again, proof that New Yorkers have far too much time on their hands...

Well, it had to happen, on Wednesday night I grabbed a bag and ran out of the house leaving a pile of smelly dishes and the cat behind me. I got to Dunblane (that's a place in Scotland, which is not next to Mexico) at 02:30 which isn't bad really, something like a seven hour drive.

Thanks to the modern miracle of cruise control ('ha' I hear you snort but no, really, cruise control rocks) I was able to do Scotland and back without any negative side effects. Normally my right leg seizes up and it takes me a day to recover. Anyway, I'm sold on large comfy automobiles.

I spent the rest of the time squeezing little Clementine, so on the whole quite a good week. Yesterday, she managed to push herself along on her knees, which was quite a milestone, except she hasn't quite mastered her front half, so in this instance, she slid along on her nose;-)

On a wholly unrelated topic, here's a link to KPMG

Tuesday evening...

19:00 leave house excited to be seeing two great actors do their thing on the West End stage.
19:25 Arrive at Comedy Theatre Panton Street and find my seat (center of front row stalls, best seat in house etc.)
19:30 Realise that both my legs are occupying the seats on either side of me and remember why I can't go to a West End theatre without Nicki who always cedes her legroom
19:35 Stand up and walk out of theatre
20:00 Get home and feel very depressed

Not a good evening:-(

Very tasty lunch at Liz and Stu's. Liz prepared jambon persillé the proper way (boil pig's trotter with aromatics etc.). I haven't had home made meat jelly in a long time, bit of a treat really. She followed that up with a bœuf bourguignon and a selection of english cheeses. Pudding involved a smooth vanilla scented custard, crumbly pastry and apples.

Thank you Liz:-)

Spam with added Flash—a little bandwidth borrowing from a spammer:-)

Not sure what reminded me of this song. (Lyrics reproduced without permission)

Peace & Love

I got high last night on LSD
My mind was beautiful, and I was free
Warts loved my nipples because they are pink
Vomit on me, baby
Yeah Yeah Yeah.

Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind
It's erect because he's blind, it's erect because he's blind
Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind
It's erect because he is blind

Let's make love under the stars and watch for UFOs
And if little baby Martians come out of the UFOs
You can fuck them
Yeah Yeah Yeah.

The zebra spilled its plastinia on bemis
And the gelatin fingers oozed electric marbles
Ramona's titties died in hell
And the Nazis want to kill everyone.

Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind ... etc.

Damndamndamn...

My mother used to say never send a letter until the following morning. Actually, it was my friend Bill Bissell's mum, and as with most things, she was absolutely right.

Nonetheless, I had a phone conversation this morning with a man who has made it his business to make my life hell. It's tough always doing the right thing, always turning the other cheek. It's tough not just pummeling the bastard, not just taking his balls of steel and ramming them down his cheeky little throat.

So anyway, I started a letter to him this morning but you know, it's one of those letters you really can't send. So instead, I'm going to inflict my otherwise innocent blogosphere readers and post it here. I/05/edit or even delete it tomorrow as I can't remember the last thing I did in anger that benefitted anyone;-)

So...

Dear Faiq,

My daughter, Clementine is 18 weeks old. She has never heard her father raise his voice, and I hope she never does so again. This morning, after saying goodbye to you, I had to do my best to calm her as she sensed the tension in the air, shattering her otherwise perfect, loving environment. It took a good ten minutes to convince her that the world was a safe place and that her parents were going to be ok.

I can only conclude, Faiq, that you are a malevolent person, an evil man who will take his place to the left hand of the lord when he dies. I hope I am mistaken in my appraisal of your caracter, and I must urge you, one more time, as we are unfortunately attached, until one of us sells our share in 117 West End Lane, to reconsider your attitude and to take a more helpful, cooperative and collaborative aproach to your relationship with Herbfords Residents Association.

Every time we talk, you tell me you are a businessman. I tell you this: this building is my family's home. 117 West End Lane is not a slum for you to lord over, it is a structure housing four independent families who care about its upkeep and ongoing. These people do not approve of the remote, rent collecting landlord in their midst.

If you were a businessman, you would have payed me for organising a builder to repair your abandonned masonry. You would have payed me a contractor's fee to supervise, manage and otherwise daily involve myself in the works. You would have payed me to be vigilant, and to immediately call the police when it appeared someone might be climbing the scaffolding. You would pay me for finding a cleaner and for providing her with a hoover, bags and other consumables. You would pay me for keep my kitchen stocked with the necessary odds and ends of day to day buildings maintenance. This would a business contract make.

Are you prepared to pay me for all the work I have done for you?

On the phone this morning, you accused me of being a terrorist, of supporting or condonning terror tactics. If I had said the same of you, you would have called me a racist. What are you saying Faiq? Are you unhappy with the US's treatment of prisonners in it's Guantanamo Bay Camp X-Ray facillity? Perhaps some day you would like to explain to me were you stand on civil rights issues.

You ask me how long I have lived in this country. What do mean Faiq? Are you asking me which team I support in cricket, you evil biggot? Is that it? Am I somehow not as English as you, by coincidence of birth or geography? What are you saying Faiq? Spit it out, would you?

A shitty day

...a copy of the Wall Street Journal (hotel bars never keep The Economist), a double measure of Talisker with water (no ice) and a Hoyo De Monterey double corona (clipped) as soon as you like...

Once upon a time in a land far far away, I read a review (Gault et Milliaut) of all the finest restaurant in Paris. The idea was to walk into all the (five or six I think it was—the Tour d'Argent and the Grand Véfors were among them) three-starred restaurants in town and order a glass of tap water and an omelete. The results were enlightening, the Td'A was clearly not a place you wanted to try it on (nor Maxime's at the time) and on the whole the three-star establishments didn't fare terribly well. I seem to remember two (2) restaurants met the challenge and they were the best ham & eggs the reviewer had ever eaten...

Cut to the Churchill Hotel cigar bar, Portman Square, London, 17:18 on Wednesday, 16 October 2002. The nose-feel of the H de M is good—peppery but light, the tobacco equivalent of a good Saint Emillion except that since I'm a pleb I couldn't name a good St E vintage—but you get the idea—all manner of good things rushing through your body, well balanced and a step closer to Heaven.

Victim of the sniper

Our trusty barman has met the challenge, I suppose the London Evening standard isn't the WSJ but hey, it's the thought that counts.

At the door of this place I paused, and thought you're feeling sorry for yourself and figured I should go home to Nicki and be a man. Ok, I'm fallible, I'm a sucker for comfort—I went for the Talisker even though it doesn't appear on the Atkins menu. But six O'clock is rolling along and I should head for home (as I cook meals)...

Apologies to readers, I'm using you guys as my personal Loraine Bracko—normal service to return any second now:-)

Well, got home last night and had a very therapeutic cry. I've been letting things stack up recently and really need a break. Faiq, my evil scumbag neighbour manages to add his two cents of pain and frustration to the mix. We've just finished a very expensive bathroom rebuild and last night Nicki heard water trickling into the ceiling. The bastard refuses to properly mend the bath upstairs, so every six months or so water starts to leak into our flat—OK—I wasn't gonna get all riled up again, the purpose of this post was to say normal service has resumed:

Western political consultants should take a pointer from Sadam as The Guardian informs me he was returned to office with 100% of the vote.

Came across the website of an airport's chapel while searching for airport advertising billboard specs and was amazed by this description. Part of me thinks PC a step too far, while the rest of me is still trying to work out how they do the logistics...

...The Interfaith Prayer Room also features a specifically designed hand-made sideboard for religious appointments. There the visitor/05/find prayer rugs, talitot, kipot, rosary beads and other items that are important to the prayer practices of the various religious traditions. Spiritual books including Bhagvad Gita, the Tanach, the Koran, and the Old and New Testaments are also available.

So I'm sitting at a table at the Welcome Break just up the M1 working on the actionscript Andy sent me last night and I go to paste it back into his file when tarnations, I realise I've only pulled the .swf off the server before leaving.

No probs, I whack the ericsson gprs on the table, turn on irda, connecting... woohoo, we're online. So, I go "connect to server", mount the main Pumpernickle job bag server and I'm away.

Except that Andy's file is about a million levels deep and for each re-draw of the Finder window, the server is trying to pump full-size Appleshare data (you know, pretty icons etc) through the micromini irda port. Double-click, wait and wait. Double click, wait and wait...

And then my brain actually wakes up—I don't need the finder at all. I remember that my OSX powerbook has a command line and start typing. One cp /Volumes/HD22/Sharepoints/job_bags/Andy_development/Andytest.fla wip/ and voilà one lovely .fla file ready to go:-)

As much as I hate Steve Jobs for making me pay over and over for the same product and for his overall shitty attitude to older customers (read all about bronze DVD problems later) I must admit Unix powerbooks are a very, very good thing:-)

To think about the really important things like why, in American Pie II is the band-camp so close to the beach house?

I mean I understand that the shuttle craft serves no physical purpose and is really just there as a plot device to get Kirk off the Enterprise...

Finally, I spent today wondering if white chocolate mini-magnums are better than their full-size brethren and whether the almond coated ones were the best overall:-)

For tea yesterday. Roasted them whole on a bed of garlic, chilli, parsley and plums. Added liberal quantities of delicious French organic butter, olive oil, salt and pepper.

Very tasty, except that the bulletholes in the breasts were a bit unsettling...

dear all, it has been mighty quiet of late on Donkey. If I carry on like this I'll end up on deadsites.com, a combination of total IT meltdown (no workstation, no powerbook), freakout over building works (my dodgy builder claims he is taking me to court, which should be interesting), and trying to take care of my wee family has meant that the few minutes I can grab at somebody else's keyboard have had to be spent on work work work (and now, a full-stop—halleluya!).

Anyway, I just wanted to let people know that my life hasn't stopped, and there is still a never-ending queue of bugbears for me to complain about, the most recent being London cyclists, Westminster Council's attitute to motorcycle parking, the shitty quality of Dell keyboards (as I feel my wrist siezing up) and the way legal departments manage to make simple things take forever...