Next time we'll not worry

That roundabout's nothing to worry about. Okay, so it wasn't that busy this morning, but it wasn't as bad as everyone made out. It might be a different matter on Saturday, but fuck it, let's hit it.

Later . . .

Next time we'll keep the glasses off

My photocard driving license has come back. It's another glasses-off photo, and whilst I didn't like the photo when I posed for it, it doesn't look too bad on the card. I've got a funny little smirk in the photo, which I probably could have done without, but all in all . . .

So, tomorrow morning, bright and early, I begin my 'crash' course. I've had lots of encouragement from friends and colleagues, which has been helpful. I'm still nervous about the test, but a little less so. If I can hit the magic roundabout, and come out intact (and in the right lane :) ) I'll be more than happy.

(as an aside, I've just discovered that someone wrote a song about it -- ROTFLMAO!)

Next time we'll say it

Drunk. I caution myself not to say anything to Demise, because I'll mess it up. I almost do though, as it's doing my head in. Next time, drunk or not. Enough is e-fucking-nough.

Apparently she's taking me (and others) on a shopping trip to London in a couple of weeks. A shopping trip? There's only one reason I agreed to this, and I'm beginning to think that it was a stupid one.

Next time we'll buy a laptop

Written on my week in Abingdon:

--23 03 2004
Every time I go to Didcot I feel as though I'm in The Simpsons, because whenever I look up I see the cooling towers at Didcot Power Station. Everywhere you go in the area, they are there, because there's nothing else quite so big.
It's not a nuclear power station, so that's where the similarities end, but the association is already there. Coming from The Sticks, cooling towers were opening-credits-of-The Simpsons first, and power stations (of whatever kind) second. I'd seen the cartoon, long before I'd ever seen one in the flesh.
It's why, if you're unfortunate to find yourself sitting next to me on the bus home, you'll hear me whistling the theme tune.
Excellent.

--23 03 2004
Evenings are fairly quiet so I've printed up a few of the Talecrafters stories to review. Having only a portable TV in my room is a godsend. It means I only have the regular six channels, and as there's never anything on that I want to watch, I don't watch. I have it on in the background, but I'm working quite well.

--23 03 2004
The main source of dissatisfaction since I started my career has been the difference between what I imagined a career as an engineer would be like, and the reality. I joined this profession to solve problems, to think, to design, to act (as D-2 puts it, 'to sustain and improve the quality of people's lives'). I didn't become an engineer to worry about money --(read cost)-- and comprimise. If I had wanted to be a manager, I would have done an MBA at university.
This morning my boss and I undertook a little brainstorming to solve a problem he's been working
on. Just throwing ideas around and trying to come up with a solution. I enjoyed it. It's restored my faith work somewhat. I know that soon enough I'll be back to writing reports and making money the chief factor in all of our decisions, but that's a rant for another time. For now it's thinking time, and it's looking a little less grey.

-- 23 03 2004
I forget what I've written here, most of the time. My friends occassionally come up to me and make reference to a joke I might have made, or talk to me about something that I know I haven't told them about, and it confuses the hell out of me. I have no doubt that in a couple of weeks someone will mention The Simpsons or lightning strikes and I'll just stare at them blankly.

-- 25 03 2004
'Well, thanks for sharing your little secret! But don't worry, it won't go any further . . . I'm not sure why you were so worried about it, I'm not the sort of person that would have a problem with that, but glad you told me.'
So I tell my ex that I fancy her mate, and she takes the news well. Damn her. It makes me feel like a bastard,
because I know that if our roles were reversed I'd go mental.

-- 26 03 2004
There's a picture of Anna Kournikova pinned to the notice board. Some days it's the only thing that gets me through to 6.

Next time we'll not have a next time

My computer's on its way out. It's crashing on me, hanging on me, making increasingly bizarre noises, and, quite frankly, I'm amazed I even managed to get online at all.

There might be another post later, if my luck holds out.

Later . . .

Next time we'll comment on how hell has frozen over

I don't know how you do things in Australia, dear, but in England a full English breakfast is more than just bacon, sausage and beans. Here we call this bacon, sausage and beans.

I can tolerate sleeping in a room that smells of cigarette smoke . . . for one night . . . but at breakfast the two guys behind me smoke whilst I'm eating. That is just fucking rude. I can't say anything because there are ashtrays on the table, but it still pisses me off.

A tick goes in the 'Never again' column next to the Bell Inn in Wantage. It was already pretty close, but this is the last fucking straw.

Next time we'll get wet

'arwell IBC is built on an old military airfield, as you may have gathered from the link I posted a couple of days back. When the wind blows, there's nothing much to stop it, and it can whipp around at
a fair old pace. When you get rain and wind, the rain comes at you pretty much horizontally. And fast.

This was the case this morning, when I got off the bus and went the wrong way, adding five minutes and about 5 gallons of water to my journey to the office.

Next time we'll fire up the printer

Nothing much to do last night, and it occured to me that next week I could print up some of the Talecrafters stories and do a bit of critting in the evenings.

Last night I did a bit of plotting, moving some scenes I last looked at some time towards the end of last year. No great progress, but I'm hoping that if I carry on doing this inbetween reviewing, I might even be able to start writing it.

Later . . .

Next time we'll go nuclear

The second presenter on the nuclear reactor seminar is a South African guy with an Albert Einstein novelty tie. I wasn't even aware there was such a thing as an Albert Einstein novelty tie, but apparently there are. He wears it with a certain pride.

The video showing the decommissioning of a nuclear reactor is filmed with time lapse photography, to show how quickly the work is progressing. I begin to wonder whether Benny Hill ever filmed anything at 'arwell.

There's a girl (from Cyprus, I think) named Miranda who is hot. Best of a good bunch, as it turns out. After seeing hardly any women since I came to the monastry, it comes as quite a pleasant surprise that there are quite a few women in the nuclear industry. The majority of them nice and friendly, although one or two were short and moustached and ignorant.

We're told of terminally ill people eating depleted uranium in the name of medical research. We're told that we can't be told stuff, because our --(read 'my')-- clearance isn't high enough. We're told about Cerenkov radiation, which I think is pretty cool (even cooler when we actually got to see it this afternoon). We're told about bandsaws and giant catapults and neutrons and 'Reactor pressure wessels'.

We go out for a girl's birthday:

Delegate: 'You were born in seventy eight, and you're 26? Your birthday must be late in the year then?'
I couldn't resist: Do you not think it might have been in March?

I have to admit, I feel a little guilty. It got the laugh I expected --(read 'needed')-- but I think I might have seriously embarrassed the poor guy.

Next time we'll get the train

My driver is so keen to get shot at he is going to Iraq now, rather than three weeks from now.

Guess I'd better stop calling him my driver.

Guess I'd better pass my driving test.

Later . . .

Next time we'll get the bus

The urgency of getting a driving license has been stepped up a little by my driver's news that he wants to get shot at. 'I might be going to Iraq. The job we were going for has fallen through, but it seems we've won another one.'

He's told me that if it goes through, he goes on the 4th of April. My driving test is booked for the 3rd. Hmmm.

Next time we'll give you a bit more notice

I'm going on a nuclear reactor seminar over the next three days. The opportunity to go only came up on Friday, which means I've spent the weekend rushing around trying to get everything organised. But, it's a chance to get out of the office for a couple of days, so I'm more than happy to go. There's a couple of social events as well -- I'm joining the British Nuclear Energy Society, apparently -- so it's a chance to meet some new people.

Later . . .

Suddenly he went driving in my car

Someone at 'Alcrow's trying to jinx my efforts to learn to drive by trying to sell me his car. I'd have to buy it before I took my test. I'm tempted, but if I buy it and fail, then I'm left with a car I can't take on the roads without supervision. I might not fail, but then again it might be years before I get that full license. You hear of people failing twice, six times, hell, even ten times.

Did a bit of research on car insurance last night. Now, I was expecting it to be expensive, but I wasn't expecting quite a range. The lowest quote I received was £600, and the highest was £1150. That £600 quote was for TPFT as well.

More looking is called for.

Suddenly he went blind

I have my contact lenses. Woohoo!

For the first time I've seen what I look like without glasses (other than in photos, of course). I've also been able to see what I look like in sunglasses. It's all very exciting :)

Of course, I can't get the fucking things in my eyes, but there you go.

Amazingly, Donald and Aitchison fucked things up again. I got there yesterday to find out they booked me an appointment with the wrong guy. 'You need a teach,' he said. 'I don't normally do those.'

I was too amused to get angry, and didn't really stop laughing until I got out half an hour later.

Coming home, I walked passed Ciao, from 'Alcrow, and she didn't recognise me. Even when I waved at her she did a little double-take before she realised who this grinning crazy person was.

Hehe. I'm going to enjoy this. Biggest one is going to be my parents at Easter.

Later . . .

Suddenly he went to 462

Some wag has scrawled 'Robert' above the sign that says PLANT ROOM.

Yet another has scrawled 'Oven' above the sign that says GLOVES.

Damn, it's funny here.

Suddenly he went to bingo

Went to the pub with my ex last night. It's a proper chav place, which I never really noticed before. It was pub quiz night, which meant that conversation was nigh on impossible. At the end of the night they had a round of bingo. This is cause for much excitement. My ex goes to the bar.

Caller: 'Five and nine, the Brighton line, fifty-nine.'
Every other person in the pub: 'Whoo-whoo!'

I swear I was almost in tears by the time she returned.

Despite this unusual school-night excursion, I managed to crit last night, although I was unable to get any writing done.

Suddenly he went back to his desk

The worst job in the world, part one:

There's a low risk that we might have breathed in air-born contaminants
on our tour. Standard procedure is to ask all visitors to blow their noses
and put the tissues into little bags that are then sent off for analysis.

My driver: 'Does someone have to check those for contaminants?'
Radioactive man: 'Not all of them. It's a random sample.'

I really pity the guy who gets to do that during flu season. Talk about
job satisfaction.

Later . . .

Suddenly he went too far

Friday night we go out to celebrate half of 'alcrow's birthdays. I get drunk. I get on Demise's case about her ex, probably forever ruining any chance of anything happening with her. Shameful makes her cry, which doesn't help.

Other than that it's a good night. My John Travolta impression fails to impress anyone, but I give it a good try.

Suddenly he went quiet

Coops chooses to watch the rugby in a pub full of green shirts and Irish accents. When the Irish give us the pounding we deserve, they are annoyingly vocal, and the English contingent in the pub disappears fast. We follow suit -- I can't deny them their right to celebrate, nor deny that I would have been just as loud had we actually played like the world champions, but I don't want to listen to it. There are too many smug grins in green here.

I can claim Irish descent, but when it comes to sport (esp. rugby) I'm 100% English. It would have been hypocritical for me to cheer them after I'd spent the last two weeks telling anyone who would listen that we were going to 'spank the paddies all over Twickenham'.

The Gourmet Burger Kitchen purports to be the 'best burgers in London'. That's a stretch. The burgers are nice, but not really worth the price. Then again, nothing's really worth the price in London.

Noddy jokes that Coops is gay. It's a running joke, and one I've heard mentioned before. It's one I've made on several occassions myself. So then, he didn't really need to give Noddy and myself more fodder by taking us to a gay bar. We should have twigged something earlier really, but isn't until we're inside and notice the men kissing that the penny drops. First reaction is to high-tail it. I guess I would have been comfortable enough to stay in there and have a drink, but there's one thing missing. I come to London to make clumsy attempts at chatting up good looking women, and there just isn't enough in here. Those that are here, probably aren't on the pull. Those who are on the pull are probably need to rethink their strategies somewhat.

I, being the wit that I am, spend the rest of the night singing 'Girl, I want to take you to a gay bar'. Coops seems to take it in relatively good humour.

We go to a club. The club has too many men inside, some woman with a clipboard and a power trip tells us, but they don't try to balance this by letting women in ahead of the queue. This works partway to my favour, as I then get a chance to make clumsy attempts at chatting up the three girls standing behind me. Don't get anywhere, but I do dance with one of them for a while later on.

Suddenly he went over it again

I keep getting these questionnaire things in my inbox. So instead of filling them out a dozen times, I'm going to post it here and send people a link back. I'm a busy man :)

Questionnaire the first. Received from Bamyes on Monday, 8 March 2004.
1. WHAT COLOUR PANTS ARE YOU WEARING? Black boxers
2. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Computer hum
3. WHAT ARE THE LAST 4 DIGITS OF YOUR PHONE NUMBER? 4453
4 WHAT DID YOU LAST HAVE TO EAT? Bowl of not-Shreddies
5. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE? Black
6. WEATHER RIGHT NOW? Bit cloudy
7 LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? my driver
8. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT YOU THIS? Sometimes :)
9. HOW ARE YOU TODAY? Miserable, same as everyday
10. FAVOURITE DRINK? Coffee
11. FAVOURITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Premium lager
12. FAVOURITE SPORT? Rugby
13. HAIR COLOUR? Dark brown
14. EYE COLOUR? Blue
15. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Not yet
16. SIBLINGS AND THEIR AGES? Daniel (23), Mark (39), James (deceased).
17. FAVOURITE FOOD? Pass, too many to list
18. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Spiderman
19. FAVOURITE DAY OF THE YEAR? October 7th
20. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT? Frequently
21. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer
22. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS? Either
23. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Chocolate
24. DO YOU WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO WRITE BACK? I shouldn't imagine that'll be possible
25. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Pass, not going to be forwarding it on
26. LEAST LIKELY? Pass, not going to be forwarding it on
27. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS? Houseshare, with two of 'alcrow's rebrebates
28. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? Christine by Stephen King, A Storm of Swords, part one: Steel and Snow (A Song of Ice and Fire, book three) by George R.R. Martin
29. WHATS ON YOUR MOUSE MAT? A mouse
30. FAVOURITE BOARD GAME? Chess, although I suck at it
31. WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT? Crashed in front of the telly
32. FAVOURITE SMELLS? Pass
33. CAN YOU TOUCH YOUR NOSE WITH YOUR TONGUE? No
34. WHAT INSPIRES YOU? Life, art
35. BUTTERED, PLAIN, OR SALTED POPCORN? Buttered
36. FAVOURITE CAR? Any, I'm still a pedestrian
37. FAVOURITE FLOWER? Rose
38. HOW MANY KEYS ON YOUR KEY RING? 3
39. CAN YOU JUGGLE? No
41. 7-UP OR SPRITE? What's the difference?
42. COFFEE? Any, as long as it's not that de-caf sh!te
43. WHO'S YOUR TRUE LOVE? She hasn't introduced herself yet
44. FAVOURITE PERFUME? Pass
45. FAVOURITE BAND OF ALL TIME? Pass, too many to list. Favourite band at the moment is Arch Enemy
46 DOGS OR CATS ? Dogs
47. DO YOU FLOSS? No
48. BITE YOUR NAILS? Yes
49. PET PEEVES? Ignorance
 50. FAVOURITE TV SHOWS: Frasier, Friends, ER, 24, Scrubs . . . Hmmm, nothing British in there. Okay, let's add I'm Alan Partridge, The Office . . .

Suddenly he went back to old material

So, stuck for anything new to post this month, I've put the reworked version of Curiosity up at the Talecrafters and the 'shop. Basically it's had a few changes since the last time it was workshopped, but the main thing is the ending has been rewritten. I've already had one reviewer said they didn't get why Lindsey was punished when it was Becka who broke the rules.

What is the worse punishment? Drowning, or thinking that your sister has drowned but never knowing for sure, knowing only that she seems to have been punished for your mistake? No contest if you ask me.

I think I'm going to leave it as it is unless lots of people say it is stupid.

Later . . .

Suddenly he went home early

Friday rocks! Home already, and I'm not due to go out tonight until at 8, so the plan is to try and get a bit of writing/reviewing in the interim. Looks like I'm going to London tomorrow, so I'd better get something done. I can see Saturday and Sunday getting written off.

Later . . .

Suddenly he went without

I realised that I don't have anything to post for the Talecrafters this month so I've decided that I'm going to drag out Curiosity again. I revised it after the last lot of reviews it had (about a year ago now, I guess), but I never did anything more with it for some reason. I don't know why, guess I just forgot about it.

The group writing exercise begins this month with the creation of our main protagonist's aspects. I've been given the task of creating his job/trade and describing what he uses to do this. I must try to remember that this is a serious exercise, otherwise I'll give the fellow (assuming it's a guy?) the most boring or stupid job I can think of.

Suddenly he went back upstairs

First siting of an attractive, but more importantly young woman in my building today. It was only a fleeting glance, so I've no idea whether she works here or was just visiting, but in this monastry it's almost something to get excited about.

Later . . .

Suddenly he went ballistic

I swear if I get that fucking 'gry' riddle one more time, I'm going to kill someone.

It's "LANGUAGE" you idiot!

Later . . .

Suddenly he went 'didn't want to do that'

Had my safety induction today. It was all fairly normal 'lift with your knees, not your back' stuff with only really two points of note. The first was the police constable, who seemed more concerned with underlining the fact that the UKAEA constabulary was a real police force than anything else. I must have heard 'We're not security guards' a half dozen times this morning.

The other was that a moustached Harry Enfield gave the fire safety talk. Didn't remind me of any specific character, but if he did a character who was a fireman then it would be this guy . . . except this guy was funny.

Suddenly he went trucking

Yorkie go in search of irony:

Latest advertising slogan: It's not for girls!
Latest promotion: Live like a pop idol!

I don't think I know any man that would get excited about that.

Suddenly he went all non-ugly

The photograph taken for my security pass is probably the best one in years. I had it taken without my specs, and the results were actually quite pleasing. Okay, I'm not going to be appearing on any magazine covers, but I'm at least up to Kid Presentable.

Later . . .