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Nick himself

Help needed…

I have signed-up to the OU K22 course with the hope of getting an MSc in computing. Specifically I want to go into net security and similar. That is some time in the future. Now I can program and know some tricks but My first course is on Java and I can learn lingoes like I work at the UN but… I don’t really get the OOP thing. I start May 1st. Any advice on OOP with specifics on Java would be liked. Cheers folks. I mean advice on books and such. I need to grasp the paradigm.

PS. I told some porkies about my programming xp but I have programmed every goddamn thing that spun a cycle* since my Speccy 30 years ago. I blagged my way onto a physics degree at Nottingham without an A-Level in maths. I did well enough to get one of six fully funded places in the UK for MSc Astrophysics. When Nick rolls, he rolls.

*Apart from that fucking Hotpoint in the kitchen which is a law unto itself.

Febrile Demonrats

This includes the Liberals (and goes back as my limited knowledge of political history does – Someone might have made a particularly good quip to Lord Palmerston but like whatever…)

Oh, God’s I’m also including the Alliance. Remember them?

But this is how I see it at the top…

Gladstone – A decent sort but a bit nuts round the edges. I have chewed that description over – 32 times. Especially the nuts.

He was OK

Lloyd-George – Randy Welsh git.

Nobody springs to mind…

Thorpe – Had a contract killing carried out on a dog.

Smith – I like my peados super-sized. Do they put something in the Rochdale water? I blame the CIA.

Steele – Whatever? Had an affair as well but nobody cared. Exactly.

Owen – The most arrogant and pompous tool of gittery since the fall of the Roman Empire. I once rolled a joint on his kitchen counter. That is true. My host – his house-keeper – a South African working on a pittance on a working holiday visa had invited me for the weekend whilst the Owens – as was their want – abandoned the gaff for their country place for the weekend and we all know what the mice do when the cats are away.

Ashdown – Became more popular after it turned out he’d been cheating on the missus because it meant he had some interest.

Ming – Anyone fancy a Werther’s Original? Thought not.

Hughes – Whilst getting his seat in Bermondsey in ’83 smeared his opponent (Peter Tatchell) with vaguely disguised homophobic rhetoric but himself turned out to be a life-long botter.

Oaten – Discovered the cure for anxiety over male-pattern baldness that has alluded the greatest minds since like whenever by deciding to have two rent boys defecate upon him. They have variously been reported as Polish or Ukrainian like it matters who shits on you. With science the devil is always in the detail. I ought to work in a Putin joke here but I can’t.

Huhne – The Jeremy Clarkson of windfarms. A chrome-plated bell-end on platinum roller-blades (or in his case a Ford Focus the badger-noodler he truly is) and a true servant of his own and every other cuntery.

Clegg – Saints preserve us from the cactus-arsonist of direville! A lying two-faced twat’s twat of the fuller monty. A twat for all seasons.

So that is the LDs.

I am a classical liberal. These people have sold me so far down the river that I am thinking deltas.

They are just such an unbelievable collection of cunts of every description.

I knew I was a quimboid… but…

And if you are wondering what one of those is then look no further

I answered the questions here Honest Indjun… I pitched-up as Slytherin… I just knew I would.

Your house is…Slytherin! Well done? Um, you’re clever, cunning and very good at looking after yourself. You’ll take after…Draco Malfoy and…Voldemort himself. Well done…and please don’t kill us…

I think my “fail” was over being thieved from by a poor person. Which I think I was supposed to forgive and give the miscreant a twenty. You don’t nick from Nick and if I know you will get a hoicking up the genitals and indeed elsewise if I grok you. It will not be over quickly and you will not enjoy it.

“Quimboid” is apparently (though I kinda knew this – Viz etc) is a semi-polite version of “cunt”. I mean if you can’t swear properly why bother? It is from a Guardian article that debates at some length the usability of the phrase “camel toe” to no discernible end.

Now I can swear. I am foul, inventive and invective. You should hear some of the things I have said about Nick Clegg. Cameron or Milliband just don’t get my dander up like that. Clegg does. He is a veritable prince of the quimboids.

Chuckles – the gift that keeps on taking…

So, Prince Charles has been to Washington DC (as have I) but whilst I flew steerage in an American Airlines A330 (and had to change at Philly – the most confusing airport this side of Mars) he went in style. He went on a chartered A320 configured as a private jet that costs GBP250,000 a hop. Or approx. 800 times what I paid (hard to say exactly – there were several hops on that hoilday which included Key West). Well, I guess it evens out because he got to meet Obama and I trogged the Smithsonians until my feet hurt – badly. He got a gong for his tireless crusades (or whatever) on the environment. He almost certainly clocked more CO2 than I can manage in a fecking lifetime. And then he delivers a lecture on the environment… Because the A320 normally carries just over about 160 passengers and not just a dickhead and his moll.

But that’s OK because it is only the little people who deserve to be taxed out of the air and not the nobs and he is a nob in every sense.

The Overhead.

I will remember to the end of my life the way that his reserve cracked a little when I gave him his “hacker” ribbon at Penguicon 2003 – how the child who’d been told he couldn’t be a programmer because he was “no good at maths” felt on finally knowing, all the way down, that we accepted him as one of our own.

Because Terry loved us. He loved everybody, most of the time, but he loved the people of the clacks especially. We were one of his roads not taken, and he (rightly!) saw himself in our earnestness and intelligence and introversion and determined naivete and skewed sense of humor and urge to tinker. It mattered to him that we loved him, and in the unlikely event there’s an afterlife it will matter to him still.

Our own Sam quoting on my post about the death of Terry Pratchett. I get it and so, very clearly, did Sir Terry – the sheer exaltation of coding. I think, perhaps, Pratchett felt it when on a roll writing. You do feel like a Small God doing something to the porpoise at a keyboard. You get the same with pencil and paper mathematics. Perhaps more so for me. You simply don’t know where you end. It is sober intoxication (although I have to admit to doing pissed physics on occasion). I have had it with things like fluid mechanics and electromagnetism. It’s a rush and you have to be careful because your mind can just and skip to the step after next quicker than your hand can scribble it and it can turn into utter gibberish. You can do the same with a keyboard. Maybe one of the reasons I always use Thinkpads is that the Trackpoint ties you into the system more tightly. It’s like HOTAS on an F-16. You might think it is merely more convenient or whatever but it is about a merging of systems. It is transcendental (and that is not an expensive trip to the dentist). It is a rush. It is almost mystical. It is being wired on your own skill. A narrow technical skill no doubt but in the academic-ish setting I’d rather take the cocaine of that than the valerian of poring over dusty tomes and producing something “scholarly”. It is Yeat’s “Lonely Impulse of Delight” rather than flying an A320 from Manchester to Paris and back again. It is moments worth years.

Sir Terry grokked this. I bet he felt it when he got the mot just.

So, it is with that lonely impulse of delight that a truly great memorial is to be erected to Sir Terry that shall last until the last disk spins down unlike the statue near the Whitehall piggery of a skinny borderline peado commie in a nappy that was recently erected. They have form on that score. Why do they have a fine equestrian statue of Richard I when he spent bugger all time in England, didn’t speak English and ultimately almost bankrupted the country largely due to a fit of pique.

This is a truly fitting tribute to Sir Terry and it shall last whilst information exists. It is The Overhead. It is everything. It is the it from bit.

Tech-savvy admirers of the late Terry Pratchett have hit upon an idea for a particularly appropriate memorial. It will be everywhere and nowhere, hiding in the code of the internet.

Pratchett’s 33rd Discworld novel, Going Postal, tells of the creation of an internet-like system of communication towers called “the clacks”. When John Dearheart, the son of its inventor, is murdered, a piece of code is written called “GNU John Dearheart” to echo his name up and down the lines. “G” means that the message must be passed on, “N” means “not logged”, and “U” means the message should be turned around at the end of a line. (This was also a real world tech joke: GNU is a free operating system, and its name stands, with recursive geek humour, for “GNU’s not Unix”). The code causes Dearheart’s name to be repeated indefinitely throughout the system, because: “A man is not dead while his name is still spoken.”

Exactly.

We shall all live forever in the overhead. That is perhaps a scary thought but not all scary thoughts are bad. Sir Terry in the ether for all eternity or at least whilst there are still ones and zeroes is something I just love.

Credo

“You should make a point of trying every experience once, excepting incest and folk dancing.”

- Sir Arnold Bax KCVO, “Keeper of the King’s Musick”.

Off to see the Wizards, the wonderful Wizards of…

… Er… Manchester Metropolitan University. This afternoon I am attending an open day type thingie for MSc computer science type stuff at Manchester Met. Now I’m not interested in the standard “career change” MSc computer science course available from practically everywhere (I could even do that at the University of Derby’s Buxton Campus which is HQed in a Victorian lunatic asylum) to practically everyone* or Manchester University who seem about as friendly as a “social disease”. More to the point Manchester Met offers specific courses and the only one I’m interested in is Computer and Network Security. One year, GBP5490.

I’m just currently gen-gapped. I’m too old to crawl under desks eating dust-bunnies and untangling cables. I’m not too old but as Galadriel said, “She can taste it in the water”. The World is changing. The default computer for most people is a laptop and they are difficult for an indy like me to do anything hardware on not being exactly modular like a classic box. Bah and indeed Humbug!* Security though is a big and indeed embiggening thing and it is a software thing so it is universal. And these “leetle grey cells” support “a mind most convoluted mon ami”. Not that my French is any good but the Hell with that!

But codes and cyphers are a long-standing interest of mine (I have a crackerjack BTW) as is computing and formal logic (though I shall dress in my usual attire – jeans/combats and a hoodie – well it’s Manchester).

Anyway, this is the course and well, what d’ya think? I would appreciate feedback.

*I once had had to deal with a high-end Acer laptop with a bust firewire port. So I give it the full exam. The owner’s kid had shoved jam into it. Strawberry jam (I never thought taste would matter in this game but you never know). Nothing I could do except advise a trip to the local Acer accredited repair place. I was not prepared to get the soldering iron out because apart from anything the new firewire port would have to line-up with whatever proprietary form-factor Acer had been working on. That and I’d be taking a soldering iron to densely-packed board. What could go wrong? A lot but not on my watch it wouldn’t. I was paid for my meagre troubles and did sort some issues with the AV codecs which meant I got to see the owner’s performance art which consisted of her dancing naked whilst about 8 months in the bun-club. I was paid in Stella for my 20 minutes. Fair enough and that is South Manchester for you.

Frosty the imam.

It is a winter wonderland outside my window in Cheshire. Apparently so it is in parts of Saudi Arabia. This is rather unusual there…

Here’s a picture

You see how unusual this is? No Brit or Canuck or Swede etc would give their snow personage a hot coffee. So are the Saudis all enjoying the novelty of snow? Yes and indeed no.

There has been a terrible moral outrage about building snowmen (and indeed snow camels – Allah knows about snow-women with snow tits and icicle nipples) and at least one imam has got his pantyhose in a twizzle

But with photos of snowpeople and snow camels popping up everywhere, Munajjid made it clear that Islamic teachings strictly prohibit the practice.

Asked whether the unusually snowy winter in Saudi Arabia meant that parents could build snowmen with their children, Munajjid delivered the bad news.

“It is not permitted to make a statue out of snow, even by way of play and fun,” Munajjid wrote on his Web site, according to Reuters.

He is also available for children’s parties. I hear his, “Death to all Zionazi Imperialists” act is a side-splitter (possibly literally).

***

“We have snow for fleeting days, maybe even hours, and there is always someone who wants to rob us of the joy and the fun,” wrote a blogger identified by Gulf News as Mishaal. “It seems that the only thing left for us is to sit down and drink coffee.”

***

But Munajjid has his supporters.

“It [building snowmen] is imitating the infidels, it promotes lustiness and eroticism,” wrote one person, according to Reuters.

I don’t know where to start…

The first point is to acknowledge this is not a “funny”. Oh, it is easy to laugh. But depriving folk of “play” and “fun” (and how often does a significant snowfall happen in Saudia Arabia?) is horrendous. What is humanity without play and fun? The imam also mentions the creation of images of critters (recall the snow-camels of horror?)

I will tell you what such a life is like. It is Hell on Earth. It is also a complete technological stagnation. I love the society (imperfect though it is) but whist I find in this day and age opposition to gay marriage (say) a bit odd I find opposition to building snow-crits is so far beyond belief as to defy… Well, I dunno but it is but it defies it. Building a snowman is the most innocent thing imaginable (and if we get a bit more snow I’ll build one myself and send a selfie to this “cleric”.)

And it matters. It really does. The more absurd a cultural argument is then in a very real way the more it matters. And not least if it is taken as ridiculous. “Imitating the infidels”? By building a fucking snowman? You wait until said cleric gets the selfie of me drinking single-malt whilst being bummed by a ladyboy who is smoking crack. I mean if building a fucking snowman is strictly verboten why not go the whole hog?

I have to add I have never had dirty thoughts in front of a snow-person – but then you knew that. “Mr NickM was apprehended for a public-order offence at 11-45am whilst he attempted to…”. Gods sakes! Mr Frosty was unavailable to comment but a puddle shall appear in Stockport Magistrates Court.

I though do hate the cultural shuttering. Some think this attempt at cultural monolithism is a strength of the Islamists and they couldn’t be more wrong. Ludicrous defence is a sign of weakness.

Banning fun is ultimately self-defeating.

The best snowman I ever built was as a kid and it was when I was a kid. My brother and me built a huge effigy of a Franz-Ferdinand (one of the Holy Roman Emperors) in the back garden. I have no idea why but it was fun. Which was the point.

H/T Dick

PS the imam also regards gingerbread men as evil.

Julia is mint.

We had quite a snowfall overnight. I go out this morn to buy a lighter. As you do. It was lethal on the lane. I fell and spacked the little finger on my right.

But as I walked home I passed the bin by Sayeed’s newsagents. Someone had scrawled “Julia is mint” in the snow on the top of it.

I have no idea if Julia is indeed “mint” but if she is then I’d like to meet her.

I suspect she ain’t all that.

That is the tragedy of the World. Julia almost certainly isn’t “mint”. She’s probs a tuppence ha’penny scrubber. She probs swallows rather than spits but she does that with anyone.

I could be wrong.

I usually am.

We stand.

“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers.

Paris.

We have all said things contra Islam (and the rest). My awkward streak arguably started at the Kard Bar (just off Westgate Road, Newcastle) as a nipper. It was there I (illegally) bought my first Viz many, many years back. I have heard many comments on the Parisian Massacre along the lines of, “Let’s have concealed carry”. This misses the point. Utterly. Undoubtedly there is a reasonable possibility that one of the cartoonists could have slotted one (or more) of the perps (and that would’ve been good).

This misses the point as to why firearms ought to be allowed. I play here with power greater (I hope than guns). I hope this laptop is more powerful than any Browning. I’d like a shooter. I think I’d be good because it is the sort of thing I am good at but moreover why not? I’m 41 years old with no convictions. That is why as a mature responsible adult (I hope my family aren’t reading this*) I should. Simples. You lose the argument the minute you cite reasons beyond the basic principle – why not?. Would I pay to go to gun classes? Hell. yes! That would be fun. Guns can be beautiful in the same way watches can be. Mechanical precision and all that.

That is a side point (though an important one). But not the really important point. It is this simple. We have an existential struggle on the go. I have heard many commentators say that Charlie Hebdo “went too far”. Ah, diddums! As someone said over at Samizdata during the MoToons of Doom(TM) frenzy, “If they can’t take a joke then fuck ‘em”. We may get killed along the way but the point is not to have heavily armed cartoonists (or bloggers et al) but cartoonists who will take pen to paper and draw what they like not without fear of nutters but despite that fear. It is a dangerous World. Giving in to fear is the ultimate defeat. It is a defeat for everyone including (perhaps especially) the very pleasant Muslims I have met throughout my life. I saw that just a coupla years ago in Istanbul where you’d see folk knock off from work, go to prayers and then grabbing a pint**. It isn’t about a perversification of the Qu’ran and or the Hadith. It is about perception filters (as are most things***) because most Muslims don’t take it all that seriously. Neither do most Christians (for example) take their faith to the n-th.

I mean it says somewhere in the Bible that a menstruating woman is “unclean” (this seems a catch-all for the Abrahamic faiths) and must dwell in a shed. Nobody who claims to be Christian (apart from some madcappers) takes this seriously and I suspect only the most Orthodox of Jews do. The radical Muslims do (not most Muslims – the Muslim owned Newsagent just down the road from me flogs porn). The difference perhaps is that the nutty Christians and Jews tend to be insular whereas the nutty Muslims are on a mission. I don’t know why that difference exists. Maybe it is the nature of the Qu’ran. Maybe it is a stupid feeling of inferiority over colonialism. To which (with a wry smile) I have to say, “Polish Hussars” (seen their wings in the museum in Krakow). Well, it was their last realistic chance. This terrorism lark feels like some bloke outside a pub with a bloodied nose saying, “And another thing” through bust teeth long after the fight is lost. I am not exactly proclaiming the superiority of The West. No, I’m saying that living in a state of victim-hood is corrosive and this was a very long time ago. Nick is likely to say,”That new Audi looks pretty tasty”. Nick is unlikely to say,”Bastard Krauts – they bombed me Granny’s fish shop!”. In order to make progress people have to get over such stuff. If you do that remarkable progress can be made. If you want to look at it like this, and I’m not advocating this as such, doing well is the best revenge. I guess the curse of oil and all that plays a part too.

When I am low (and I am sometimes low) I read Tolkien****. I do not read hatred. Recently I saw a contestant who said she’d spend her GBP3,000 on a new door “for the mulcherry” but she was from Shropshire… We must all live our dreams I guess. Difference is a lesbian mulcherry in Hobbiton (aka the Welsh Borders) matters not a jot to me at the mo. The shooting of cartoonists in Paris matters little either. People who have lost the intellectual war can go fuck themselves but more than that so can the so-called “apologists” (“blow-back”, Bushes etc). This was Islam related and whilst Islam has it’s place in our society it has a place the same as other religions do be use they should know their place. It is not “It”. My continent has been through more than enough with wars of alleged Christianity against itself (I had no religious upbringing and regard the whole thing quite ambivalently).

What I do know?

I know this. I know my keyboard lights-up when I press “Fn” + “Space”. This is handy because it is getting dark now (even though I can touch-type). It’s cool. I mean really cool. Shit! I have to see to a buggered Acer this evening. Oh, fuck me up the chuffster! Anyway…

Islam needs (in parts) to get the house in order. Nobody but the nutters hasn’t said “nyet” to them but fundamentally it is about giving-up the “saucier parts” in the Qu’ran in much the same way “Christianity” (however defined) after a long struggle has largely given-up such parts of the Bible. I, for one couldn’t give a toss who one worships. It is all drivel as far as I can care – which isn’t very far.

I’d best finish here though there is so much more to say.

Except…

… I wanted to post today about so much fun stuff. I couldn’t. I had to post on this. I am sorry for this and my heart bleeds for France.

*I almost knocked Steven Jauncey’s heed (not an sp) off with an acclerometer-thingie but that was GCSE Physics and I was bored and when the teacher said,”On no account put more than half a kilo on the weight”. Well I stuck five kilos on and Elon would be proud. There are many other misadventures in the Nickopeia but I am all in one piece. Jauncey was a cunt, mind. Probably still is. I missed. I mean there was fuck all else to do in GCSE Physics other than to use an opposed weight to chin Jauncey. Fuck all, really.
**Although the ubiquitous Efes beer is a penance in itself. It tastes very American and I’m not talking Sam Adams. I’m talking Coors Lite. Of course Mr Erdogan is doing his level to drag Turkey (a country I liked) back into the Dark Ages. A crying shame.
***This is why I like maths. Unfenced and absolute reality. Unusual.
****Nothing better. h

2015

This is a politically based blog. Some of you may have noticed I have been posting less. I am still politically a classic liberal but I don’t care that much about politricks. I never have really. When I was younger I couldn’t give a toss. Quite how I got quasi-interested is beyond me (thanks Mr Marks!) but this is a new year (the cause for calenders and such). I had a Polish New Year’s Eve so I am hung-over but I am clear on one thing – have been for some time. What I shall post shall be my stuff which is about sciencces/tech/philosophy. This Lenovo S440 Thinkpad shall no longer darken your towels with jack-assed political opinions.

Now, here is an interesting one. Should Lesbian couples be able to have biological children? It is doable. I am not sure it ought to be done. There are “issues”. Most revolve around homophobia of some form or another. I am not equivocating here but I know blokes who will log into “dykeswithdicks.com” but would write angry letters to local rags if a lesbian couple moved in next door. I don’t even care about that. Why would I? I don’t even care about the fact this is de-facto sex selection (where would they get a Y chromosome from?). No, I care about the issue (yes!) of the morals of the foetal research. Should technical developments (and it is tech – the basic science is there) be allowed if it involves peril to the unborn. And what do those qualms mean for my usually gung-ho attitude to science or indeed sexuality. And how does that relate to my view on abortion? I don’t know which is why I wish to pose these kind of questions. It is why I couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff as to what Lord Palmerston or Karl Marx or Muhammed said. It is why I can’t give a fig for LVT versus income tax. I just don’t care.

In a very real sense being a libertarian means not caring in the best possible way. It means caring for sure but not meddling and not trying to impose morals of any description on others. And I don’t mean “Victorian Values” (whatever we think that means or the thinking (such as it was) of T Dan Smith who wrecked half of the town of my birth (which do you prefer – Georgian elegance or something that looks like a 1970s Albanian car park?). I don’t even see that as political.

I guess what I’m saying is the reason libertarians don’t get much traction politically is we tend (certainly I do) to see issues, problems, opportunities not in an a political sense. This doesn’t mean we don’t care. That is why I mentioned the lesbian motherhood. I am conflicted morally. I don’t see anything wrong in principle but the research needed concerns me. It isn’t a political issue (or shouldn’t be) or even a social issue. It is a sci/tech/phil issue.

So my New Year message is this. Be less political. Stop caring. By all means give a few quid to the dog’s home but if you think politricks will solve anything then you aren’t a libertarian. I have bust ribs from a fall on the ice. I was helped-up by a motorist passing by. Single acts of mere kindness are what make us human. A majority vote in whatever parliament or assembly ain’t.

But you would be stunned by the number of people who think otherwise. There is an Oscar Wilde kid’s story set in winter where a group of forest animals are complaining about the snow and one suggests, “The government should do something about it.”

It is that mentality that leads to T Dan Smith.

Anyway, that’s it. Libertarianism is (or ought to be) totally apolitical.

Not quite it. Obviously. I have wittered on for too long not to wish y’all (and your friends and family) a jolly good New Year!

Oh, the irony…

It’s a bit like bronzey or Goldie (looking chain). I need some dental work doing. So this is how it works out. My dentist says she could do it but it is potentially complicated (nudge, nudge, wink, wink – oh I get you). So she could do it but if she boots me upstairs to the clinic either in Manchester or Macclesfield it counts as a hospital referral and is therefore free. Otherwise her or her partner could do it but they aren’t quite as specialist as the dental hospitals mentioned so it would be best for me to see them. OK, I trust her judgement. Fine, cool, we are all the Fonze here. But there is a kicker to the deal. If she treated me further I’d be on the hook for GBP219 to the NHS but if it is done in a hospital it is buckshee and paid for with fairy tales.

I shouldn’t mock. The Disney Company made a lot from fairy tales. So, let’s get this straight? If I opt to see a specialist rather than a local GP-type dentist I get this free? I guess it makes sense in the sense that getting it done by the top folks probs saves on further dealings (and this is a crown on a front tooth so we are not currently at home to Mr Cock-Up). I mean definitive treatment by the best place is a good thing and all and saves further costs either to the system (or me) not that “the system” comes free…

The last time I bought a computer with VAT at 20% I… Well, it’s hard to say what I thought (for the bill specifies VAT). For a normal human to even pronounce what I thought it would require vastly more extensive dental surgery than I am looking at. It would require a quart of Strangeways toilet-bowl gin and a windy-pick. And it would sound something like an Oompah Loompah yodeling a One Direction medley through a National Distress bus station urinal. Whilst it was on wobbly eggs. And with a banjo up the arse, sideways and lubed with R Kelly’s baby-fruiting juice.

Anyway. /rant off. But it is bizarre that the potentially better treatment (which admittedly isn’t too local – more on that later) is free whereas the treatment at my local dentist is GBP219. There is something wrong with this but I’m not entirely sure what it is. Perhaps that is how they get away with a profound capuchin-jockeyed donkey-derby. But if I get the tooth re-capped on the nowt this way then OK. I mean “on the nowt” with the above cacophonous caveats noted. As it ain’t free is it? But if I’m not charged again for it that is good.

I got a letter today from the local dentists with the NHS form for my ref to one of the above clinics. I had to sign a form – a blue form – Gods help us! A blue form!!! It came with another blue thing – a 2nd class stamp. Now seeing as the nearest post-box (which is gold – thank you Barney Storey*) I hand delivered the form. Less hass than posting it. The first girl I ever snogged was a Brosette** and she used the phrase “mass hass” a lot. Not that that ever involved me. I was a cipher. Run fast and low. Keep supersonic and off the radar.

I hope I made some sense here.

*That lycra-clad assassin nearly killed me once. I would have been dead’d and he’d have been in the paralympics for real.

**Yes, she had Grolsch bottle tops in her shoes and wore a red neckerchief.

Battles…

This is a long term pet hate of mine. I hate it when people use military language such as “fight” or “battle” outside of context.

I have long hated it in sport. Since at least Euro ’96 and The Mirror mocking-up Stuart Pearce in a Tommy hat before England played Germany in the semi. It is crass at best.

Now The Mail reports on a study that such language is often unhelpful to many cancer sufferers. The implication due to a study by linguists at the University of Lancaster is that people who succumb to the disease haven’t “fought” hard enough. I get that.

So a thumbs up to The Mail for reporting this point.

And two thumbs down for following it up days later with this.

I hate this metaphor of battle. Ms Gibbs died because she was unlucky or the diagnosis was made late or the treatment wasn’t good enough or some combination of the three. I lend clock-cycles to the likes of Folding@Home. I lend my Intel Core i5s. I am part of 164,000 giving a little bit of tame lightening to help provide 38,000 Teraflops of computing to help cure or treat (note I don’t say “defeat”). Flops are floating point operations per second. And that is 38 Petaflops or 38 quadrillion sums per second. Or 3.8 x 1016 calculations per second. Not even Michael Gove demanded that many using times tables and slide-rules. It is quite possible the sum total of human endeavour in the field of arithmetic is greater since 1950 than since those folk in Sumeria all those millenia back invented place system arithmetic.

Forgive my emotion here but I watched Rosetta/Philea touchdown on Churyumov–Gerasimenko. I had to go to the dentist this morning to see about a crown being replaced which was not the start to a day I wanted but by about 4pm when we got the news from Darmstadt that Philea had landed I was marked this day with a white stone. Sometimes we slip in the bathroom and crack a tooth and sometimes we have petaflops and land on a comet half a billion km from home. That is about 30 light minutes away. My degrees are in physics and astrophysics. That was my Apollo moment. Neil and Buzz of course did their thing before I was born. For me this was better and even more awesome than Voyager 1 hitting the heliopause. And that was awesome. Some of the US Christian Wrong objected to the images of naked people on it. Well that is 15 billion km away and doing 17 km a second so they can pick-up our interstellar porn. Because that has like so gone.

We can be magnificent. And Rosetta has been. ESA landed something the size of a washing machine 500,000 km from home and it worked. I wish (in a frivolous sense) they’d landed that bloody dreadful Hotpoint from my kitchen in outer space. That thing once went completely tonto and lifted the kitchen work-top about 3cm. The sound was awesome. I thought Al Queda had bombed my kitchen – possibly because I had bacon in the fridge. The kitchen work-top is solid granite. It was like having R2-D2 break dancing.

I’m just (for once) in a good mood with my species. ESA got it there within 2 minutes over a ten year mission covering billions of km (it did gravity assists on the way). The dentist was twenty minutes late. The train from where I live is never on time. That mission is awesome. Yeah it cost GBP1.1bn but somethings are worth it. The dentist cost GBP18.50 (well cost me that directly). I am a happy camper today. And I hate seeing the dentist – does anyone like it? ESA – I salute you.

We are a mixed species. We can make TVs (amazing) and then make shows like Geordie Shore to show on them. Have you seen that? Don’t. I’m a Geordie and my heroes are folks like George Stephenson and not some slag (not a word I use lightly) crawling across a bathroom-floor whilst venting urine in a desperate bit to get to the toilet to vomit. She was out in time and distance by more than Rosetta and she hadn’t gone billions of km.

You want something done spot on get a physicist. Richard Feynman once compared his theory (Quantum Electrodynamics) in accuracy to measuring the distance from LA to NYC and getting it to within the width a human hair. Just ponder that.

Update: Philae is not out of the woods yet. But even getting it down is magnificent. I so hope it works. This is as important as Viking or Voyager.

This is Fermilab with a jetpack. This is the reason I still trog on. I recall the discovery of a quark and this guy run into Lecture Theatre B1 – University of Nottingham told us that at CERN they had confirmed it. And we all (and there was a lot of us) spontaneously cheered. That was the Standard Model down.

I just love science and techie stuff. I had a flatmate doing English Literature and he wound-up (through no fault of his own) doing “Old Icelandic Edda and Saga in Translation”. He hated it. I was in the second year lab with interesting kit and the preserved blackboards of some fellow called Albert staring down at me. Can’t imagine who he was. It was all Greek (and German) to me. But I wound-up knowing both the Special and General theories of relativity. How cool is that!

I am going into rhapsodies for it is late.

I am going to contradict myself (but as a physics grad I have earned the right – Nick has a cat – Timmy – and so did Erwin Schrödinger).

I don’t do weird things with Timmy in a box but he has to go in one to go to the vet sometimes. That is fun.

C:\>

I have been using Windows 8 on my new Lenovo S440 (great little machine) for some time (though I’m not sold on the new trackpoint but then neither was Hitler). It’s OK – I guess but the scrolling is a pain. I guess I can jiggle that but – and this is the J-Lo but(t) – I have had to re-install Win 8 twice due to the machine locking down or simply playing les buggeurs risible – so I guess I shall have to reset again. Today I had some semi-malware – a browser hi-jacker and though ’tis gone I had to go through a frigmarole to get an MSDOS-ish (yes, really!) prompt up and nix it by hand. Worked like a dream but at first I tried the new Windows Powershell which doesn’t recognise post ’95(?) long filenames (D’oh!!!). Old Skool MSDOS (remix) does so Steve Ballmer can take his Metro interface and stick it up his hairy, sweaty arse. And he can be burnt in a wicker penguin with his fucking charms round his neck. His neck if he is lucky.

I mean I reboot – and it goes back to the (I thought slain) Metro interface which informs me that Benedict Cumberbatch is trending. Apparently he’s got engaged. Great. Very happy for him and his future bride and all that but it does the square root of a weasel-fuck for me actually getting Chrome to work. I ‘m sorry – I can’t recall exactly what the hi-jacker was but it was some “local” thing connecting to Ask.com.

I did a hard-reset – another thing MS has made like the stations of the cross – after Malwarebytes (free version) had quarantined, reboot, Powershell – no dice, the good old C:\> did the trick. The Buddha on a hoverboard! Muhammed with a jetpack! I had in certain senses more power in my paws with a MSDOS 5/Win 3.1 Elonex with a 386SX16 and 4Mb of RAM in 1993 than I have with this machine chained as it is to the rotting idiot that is Win 8. This machine I ordered with 8Gb of RAM (2000 times as much!) but when you consider Win 8 takes 2-3 Gb of RAM just to get it’s boots on I do wonder. What the fuck is it doing? Working on the Nork nuke? Decrypting for the NSA? photoshopping jihadi selfies? Fuck alone knows. This machine has 8Gb so the overhead doesn’t really matter but it still pisses me off.

I want control. I have never had any designs on invading Poland but I want total control over my “toy”. I want a Lego set and not a Barbie*. I want my C:\> back. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go back to the 640K limit and having to create boot disks just to play Falcon.

Before anyone starts… I tried 8.1 but it was worse. Win 10 had best be good or I’m going Linux for most stuff. Obviously I’ll keep a Win machine for games and some stuff. You have been warned Ballmer. You are treading on a very slippery Surface. Because I swear to the God of Circuits I am not alone.

Here endeth the rant.

*An ex of mine who’s Mom was a very senior mathematician (went on to become head of the AMA) successfully lobbied Mattel to drop a certain “talking” Barbie over one of it’s phrases, “I’d like to be an animal doctor [sic] but math is hard”. Of course “math is hard”. So is hacking through a computer Old Skool but at least you feel in charge and my Speccy didn’t want to tell me celeb gossip.

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