If Big Brother isn't watching you now he probably will be real soon now and making money at it.

A lot of balls. A nice post by Meg on Buckminster Fuller's 1969 comments about computing. I must admit the main thing that springs to my mind on mention of his name is Buckyballs: geodesic domes, Buckminsterfullerenes and the modern football. I made a buckyball out of paper for my sons and another, for the hell of it, out of drinking straws and paper clips.
Another type of ball made the papers today. Tony Evans from Swansea made a 4ft ball out of 6 million rubber bands and dropped it from 5,000ft above Arizona to see if it would bounce. It didn't. Instead it made a 9ft crater and partly collapsed. Anyone who's worked in an office could have told him that. If he'd dropped it from a much lower height it would have bounced easily but from 5,000ft it must have been going at one hell of a lick when it hit.
Like lots of others I have made rubber band balls and there is always some comedian who wants to see it bounce and so he throws it, usually with near lethal results.
I think a new sport should be developed for the Olympics/Guinness Book of Records to make offices a safer place. The aim would be to get the highest bounce from a given drop. In order to encourage the wasting of rubber bands the scoring could be done by multiplying the diameter of the ball by the height of bounce. Standard drops could be 75cm(desk height plus a book/magazine), 2metres (filing cupboard) and any other convenient local height (down a stair well).
The Olympic sport could include a special category for propelled balls, the largest ball bounced intact by an individual over a 4 metre bar.
Or the quickest to bounce 20 bands over a 4 metre bar.
Another option could be the slowest time to roll/bounce down a flight of stairs, a really skillful game.
It would be a game largely without limitations for fitness, age or sex. I for one would definitely consider participating in a serious sport like this whereas there is no way I would ever become a synchronised swimmer.

Adam Osborne RIP. I still have an Osborne I up in the loft. It was the only machine on which I ever did any programming. It stopped functioning about 6 years ago but I didn't have the heart to dump it. That was the last time I used CPM.

Politicians everywhere always want more of our money so they can spend it as they see fit. This, coupled with today's demand for $74.7 billion, seems to be rather a lot even for a Texan.

The archive template has 'taken' but the blog template still hasn't.

I think the links should work now, ditto archives.

I owe someone a drink. If anyone happens to go into The Westgate Hotel in Winchester and sees a tall bloke with a back brace, please buy him a pint and say its from me.

We were in there last Thursday having a cup of coffee and a breather from walking up the hill and he pointed out that the view from the top of the old West Gate was worth the climb. He also advised visiting the Great Hall. These are two of the few bits of Winchester Castle that Oliver Cromwell didn't knock down 350 years ago. The tall bloke was right. Nestling up against the south side of the Great Hall there is also a very pretty if tiny garden which has a wonderful tunnel of vines amongst other things.

Inside the hall itself there is an interesting 500 year old example of propaganda. In the 13th century a huge 18 foot diameter oak table was constructed along the lines of King Arthur's Round Table. After a few years the table top, weighing about one ton, was put up on the wall by way of decoration. About three hundred years later, on the orders of King Henry, the table was renovated and decorated. The names of King Arthur's knights were painted around the perimeter and just above the centre was a portrait named as King Arthur himself. Not surprisingly the face on the portrait is that of Henry. Some things never change.

So far, so good. Now to get the links and archives up and running. I didn't put live links on my test blog because from previous experience once you do that your cover is blown.

My father died six years ago today. Perhaps I will have that beer after all. Cheers Dad.

I may be about to tribulate. I've had enough of this colour scheme and layout although I don't actually look at it that often. I have been playing with my test blog and think I have cracked it. After I post this I will try out my new template.

30 days without the option. A dubious benefit of having more than one doctor in the family is that a second opinion is never far away. For once it's worked in my favour. The second opinion was that 7 days' medication and no alcohol was more than enough and I'm back on the booze. I think will save the Amstel until the news from Iraq justifies more than drowning my sorrows.

And so to bed. I shall be going to bed in an hour or so. I will almost certainly sleep reasonably well. What right have I to do that when, by the time I get up, it is very likely that thousands of people in the Middle East will have died.

Slow, slow, stop-stop, slow. The Blogger foxtrot. It can't be a quickstep if the last post still hadn't appeared after 15 hours. There must be a better way.

Rachel Corrie, martyr. Her parents wrote a letter to let Rachel's own words reach a wider audience. Her emails to her family and friends are worth reading.

World crisis. Supplies to fall by a third within 20 years. 2.7 billion to face shortages by 2025. Iraqi oil supplies irrelevant. War pointless. Thirst is a bigger problem. Ask California.

Saint Patrick's Day announcement. (At least it would have been if Blogger had let me in.) According to Datamonitor the Irish aren't going to be drinking enough Guinness in four years' time to avoid losing their Number One Nation status to the South Africans.

After tonight's speeches by Bush and Blair it's looking very much as though Brooke will get the one present she didn't want. If you haven't already, now would be a good time to pray for the innocents on both sides who have little hope of survival.

Life may be cruel but at least it's not personal.

Worried about travelling in these uncertain times? Don't be nervous about war and terrorism. Be afraid of the Super Flu.

Life can be so cruel. One of the key events leading to this blog was the offer of a virtual beer in South Africa. That and a few friendly insults, at least I think they were friendly. Virtual boozing is an hilairious idea but the buzz isn't quite the same, so I started my quest. After a searching for several months, last Thursday I located a source of Amstel. Last Wednesday (it had to be the 13th) I started a 30 day course of medication for a minor affliction. On handing over the package the pharmacist pointed out the instuctions and warning on the bottle to abstain from alcohol. So how bad can it be to turn green or grow an extra head? Roll on 12th April. On the other hand with two heads I could legitimately talk to myself. It would be marginally less/more insane than talking to a computer.

A good craftsman is worth his salt but this seems to be more than a cellar or two.

Dinosaurs still roam. This morning in a part of town I don't often visit there was a rag and bone man. A proper, fully functional mid-twentieth century rag and bone man complete with horse and cart. Not part of a parade, tourist attraction or film set and obviously starting his day's work. He'd got a few bundles of wire and a couple of lengths of lead pipe on board( they gave up on rags when hippies started wearing them and bones were never much fun). I'll make a note the next time I see a sabre tooth tiger.

It's time to out myself. I am in love. I am utterly devoted. To rubbish. Don't laugh. This is a serious expression of a deeply felt emotion. It is not a frivolous passing infatuation. I have been smitten since the age at which the bulk of my memories began, maybe 3 or 4. We are not talking bio-degradable here more the 'I can't stand the sight of that ....... any more. Either it goes or I do.' sort of item. If you gather together a number of these items I get seriously aroused. It used to be that the three best things in life were; a drink before and a cigarette after. Well, in spite of the fact that I used to smoke, smoking was always number four on my list. Auctions and other peoples' junk have always given me a serious buzz. The bidding can be fun and profitable but the real down and dirty fun is the viewing. You can wander round, poking and prodding virtually anything on this earth with the knowlege that you could become the owner of absolutely anything, possibly for very little money. There is the wonderful element of never being sure what is going to turn up in this pile of stuff or in the old cardboard box. Plus the possibility that noboby else has spotted the treasure that is tucked away in the corner over there.

I blame my besotted nature on my parents. My father was a compulsive hoarder of anything that might have a use at some time in the future, even if that future was half a century away. The first house of which I have any distinct memory was a four storey semi-detached house, circa 1850, which had four good-sized rooms on the top floor, originally the servants quarters. Two were bedrooms for my older brother and me. The music room contained a piano and not much else. The fourth was the Junk Room. It contained the results of ten years of my parents' married life plus whatever my father's family had decided was surplus to requirements. My father had built storage racks and shelving and all the contents were well housed. We two boys were not allowed in there because we might hurt ourselves on the unspecified dangerous stuff in there. Yeah right. No five lever mortice locks, no steel plates, no barbed wire(razor wire hadn't been invented) or electric fence. It was absolute heaven.

My mother bears responsibility for exposing me to the carnal pleasures of the auction room from an early age. Every month or so she would go to an auction for her own amusement. She soon discovered that I was absolutely no trouble at auctions. So she took trouble to inform me and show me what to look out for. She also made sure that if I wanted to bid on anything that I had properly inspected the goods and had the pocket money to back my judgement not hers. The weekly auctions in the market towns of North Staffordshire were interesting but the cream of the auctions were the occasional farm auctions. At a farm auction absolutely everything is for sale, even if badly damaged. What would have been refused by a weekly auction was available for inspection and purchase. The viewing allowed close scrutiny of a phenomenal variety of stuff, not encountered in the normal run of life. Moreover you were actually supposed to touch and prod and investigate everything. I can see now that these events were an important part of my education. At the time they were just intensely absorbing. They moulded my attitude to the acquisition of worldly goods, cars, houses, furniture and computers much to the dismay of my entire family. Forget retail therapy, I can't stand shopping but give me an auction or a pile of boxes full of rubbish and I'm as happy as a pig in the proverbial.
I am now outed and I am unrepentant.

Tony Blair has got a congestion charge fine. He paid the correct weekly charge for a registered resident within the Zone however he failed to register. Apparently the Prime Minister forgot to apply for a residents' discount because 'he has been busy'. It is not the only paperwork he's screwed up recently. UN resolutions spring to mind. Saddam is as guilty as hell but not as charged. He should get off on a technicality. The Downing Street spokesman added 'If there are fines to pay,then Mr Blair will, of course, pay them.' Fortunately he is one of the few people in the country who can afford to. Members of Parliament and people in Government have recently awarded themselves fat salary increases way over the rate of inflation. All other public servants are restricted to rises that match inflation.

Striking chords. Farrago came back from her fishing trip singing a song I've always liked. I've now located the words to Hank Williams Jr's 'I'm for Love' which has similar sentiments. I decided not to put the lyrics in Farrago's comments to avoid possible offense from the last line in verse one.



Mothers against drunk drivers

The Pope is against the pill

The Union's against the workers

Working against their will

The President's against the Congress

The Senate is against the House

People are against Politicians

And I'm against cats in the house.



But I'm for love ... and I'm for happiness

And I'm for ... if you don't like it

Can't you just let it pass

And I'm for turning off the news

And turnin' down the light

'Cause I'm for nothin' else

But me and you to-night.



The City's against the County

The County's against the State

The State is against the Gover'ment

And the highway still ain't paved

The Banker's against the Farmer

The Farmer's against the wall

Doctor's against me smokin'

And the Devil's against us all.



But I'm for love etc...



The Cops are against the Robbers

The Laws are against the Cops

Justice is against the system

And the people are blowin' their tops

The Horse is against the Automobile

The Bus is against the Train

The Train is against the Jumbo Jet

And I'm against fishin' in the rain.



But I'm for love etc...



Hey, I'm for love , I'm all for happiness

And I'm for ... not looking for something to make us mad

I'm all for turnin' off the news and turnin' down the light

And I'm for nothin' else but me and you tonight.



Sez it all really.

It had to happen sooner or later. The Tower of London is actively seeking to recruit its' first female Yeoman Warder (Beefeater) in 600 years. As one of the requirements for the post is to have been a soldier for 22 years they may have to be patient. There have been only 2 applicants so far. There isn't any rush to find a female even if the professor of genetics at University College London, Steve Jones, suggests the Y chromosome is degenerating and that the human male is doomed to extinction. It isn't due to happen for 5-10m years.

Humanity amazes me. I have just been watching a program from the BBC about Dzerzhinsk in Russia, the world's most polluted city. Levels of DDT are 6 times the safety limit, vinyl chlorides 11 times, phenol 300 times and more dioxins than you can shake a stick at. The chemical plant which used to produce materials that Saddam Hussein is accused of using is the only industry in town. The population is unable to move, the average life span is now about 50 and the death rate exceeds the birth rate by a factor of 2.6. The government and bureaucracy ignore all protests and the prospect of any change is zero yet the people still manage to maintain a normal social structure and display what can only be described as saintly levels of dignity. Someone smoking a cigarette near you? Try living in Dzerzhinsk for the rest of your life.

That's (medical) progress. What goes around comes around. Time was when doctors would say 'Take two aspirin and come back and see me when you're better. Apparently it works better than they knew.

Can vigilantes ever be a good thing? It looks as though the English principle of 'reasonable force' is going to be needed again.

Webcentric Manic Depression (WMD). A common affliction in the neighbourhood. The manic phase usually manifests itself in multiple postings over a relatively few days. A particularly severe bout may result in keyboard diarrhoea. There are recorded instances of an evangelical variant of the manic phase where the sufferer encourages others to generate postings regardless of the consequences.

Whilst most writers have occasional days when they generate several posts the following case histories are of interest.

Shelley's normal state is mildly manic but stable and well controlled without medication.

Farrago has a less pronounced manic phase although her pages frequently develop many colourful well-defined graphical rashes.

Jeneane is currently going through a rabied manic stage. She is attempting a post a minute and has so far achieved a rate of one in two. Given that this patient blogs in her sleep it is possible. Jeneane also went through the evangelical manic phase recently. As a result she is under constant observation.

The depressive state is also referred to as Bloggers' Void, Web Fatigue, Writers' Block/Bloggers' Rite, Bad Hair Day. There is a feeling when there is little feedback from posts that they have sweated blood over and are rather proud of. A belief that they are spending hours talking to a box full of wire and silicon, hours that could be spent on just about anything else. The thought that they are the only person out of a couple of million who is using their blog. Realising that even if someone does read their post they're almost certain to be living thousands of miles away and they won't ever meet them and they probably wouldn't like them if they did. Having nothing to say for once in their life. Having an unpleasant taste at the back of the brain that means that nothing read or seen is going to be of interest. Whatever is posted it isn't what was meant.

The usual suspects case notes reveal that:

Shelley shut the door then made the mistake of pinning a note up. Red rag to a bull if you ask me.

Jeneane started to enter this phase but everybody just knew it wouldn't last.

Farrago went fishing to get away from it all but right now she's sitting on the bank surounded by people who've brought picnics, blankets and beer.
I'm off to join them as soon as I've posted this.

The majority of the population are affected at some time in their active years and it is rarely fatal. The condition is usually self limiting although recovery is undoubtedly aided by sociable communication. There is little evidence of a build up of natural immunity and recurrences are quite common.

The differential diagnoses to be borne in mind on patient presentation are:-

Blogger Slowdown(BS)
Posting Must Terminate(PMT)
Too Many outside Interests(TMI)
Post Vacation Catchup(PVC)
Minimal Intelligence Lacking Forethought(MILF)
Feeble Blogging Imagination(FBI)
Can't Imagine Anything(CIA)

The English may be rubbish at cricket but at least we don't have South Africa's problems with stumps and arithmetic.

That's scary. Scott McNealy, CEO of Sun, predicted a day when people will carry cards or chips
activated by radio waves from sensors at hotels, gas stations and any number of other places. Once radio frequency identification (RFID) chips cost from three cents to five cents, 'You'll put them on everything,' he said. And McNealy does mean everything.
His dog has an identification chip embedded between her shoulders, and McNealy said humans eventually won't be different. 'They're going to slap that baby's bottom, then slip an ID chip in their neck or between their shoulders so you can keep track of your kid, That's not Big Brother; that's dad.'

Sound thinking from Mark Morford in inimitable style.


'It comes down to simple physics. Negative begets negative. Positive begets positive. War begets war, peace begets peace, Britney begets Christina begets N'Sync begets People magazine begets "Joe Millionaire" begets 10 million Prozac prescriptions begets a billion dumbed-down mind-sets, embittered souls. In a nutshell.'

Bureau of Investigation?. After a tip-off, they arrested a man in the States who was on their '10 Most Wanted' List. It took them a couple of weeks to be able to differentiate between a tourist arrested in South Africa and the alleged criminal in the States. The President of South Africa personally apologised for the fact that his forces had acted in all good faith on the Bureau's information. I can't say I've noticed much activity from the Bureau. No heads rolling, no Presidential apology nor any suggestion that anybody was rather slow to check whether the tourist had ever been in a position to commit the crimes. These are the people who are providing a lot of the 'evidence' for war in Iraq. With levels of incompetence such as these should their evidence be given more credibility than your average tabloid newspaper?