Virgilio has been visiting the department for a few weeks, and he's off back to Valencia tomorrow. Last night we went out for a curry. There were 14 people there, and I was the only one from the UK. There were a few greeks, some italians, a couple of tres elegante Francaises, one portuguese and a slovenian. And me!
Most of these people spoke one other language as well as their native language and English, so half the time the greeks were talking to the spanish in spanish, or the french were talking to the slovenian in italian. I didn't dare see if anyone would understand my flakey russian!
After the curry, it was off to someone's house for a party - again I was the only brit there, the others being more spanish and a couple of germans and one non-spanish spanish guy - from the Basque country!
I wandered home at 2:30am.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
iridescent clouds
Its a cold day today. I'm on the wrong side of the country for snow, which is all being dumped on the east coast at the moment.
But today, cycling in, something caught my eye. Colours in the clouds. Purple and green, gold and electric blue. Wow. No I wasn't tripping. This was iridescent clouds.
I dragged Ian out of his workshop to show him. You really need to block the sun behind a building and wear shades to get the full effect, otherwise its too bright. I showed a few other friends this too.
As a member of the Cloud Appreciation Society I'm always looking out for interesting things in the sky.
But today, cycling in, something caught my eye. Colours in the clouds. Purple and green, gold and electric blue. Wow. No I wasn't tripping. This was iridescent clouds.
I dragged Ian out of his workshop to show him. You really need to block the sun behind a building and wear shades to get the full effect, otherwise its too bright. I showed a few other friends this too.
As a member of the Cloud Appreciation Society I'm always looking out for interesting things in the sky.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
February mountain
I'm trying to climb a mountain every month this year. See 43things for more info. Well, here's what happened...
Weather outlook for the weekend – cold, sunny. I’m off. So Thursday night I decide to skip work for Friday. Friday morning, get the train and bus to Ambleside, hike the 10 miles up to Great Langdale campsite.
Rain in the night turns to ice on my tent by morning. I share my breakfast with robins and great tits. Then I’m off by 8:30 and a the top of Pike O Blisco by 10, and the summit has an 80mph roaring storm blowing on it. But only on the top summit. It nearly stopped me touching the top cairn, but I’d come this far, I wasn’t going to stop.
A minor thigh strain put me off a longer hike, so I figured I could head down the other side of the mountain, back to the valley, brew up some lunch there, then get the bus back to Ambleside. I got back about 11:50, and then realised there was a bus at 12:30, so I broke camp in double quick time and yomped to the bus stop. Home feels good.
Two down, ten to go.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
December bike ride
It was epic. Totally. I got out of the house at 9am (already an hour behind schedule, but I didnt really reckon I'd get out at 8 anyway!) and by the time I'd done the first half mile, along the canal, my hands were frozen. I was wearing thin cotton gloves under my cycling gloves, and it wasn't enough. But I'd brought my ski gloves along so I put them on over my cotton gloves. Eventually I got my feeling back.
Then I went along the riverside path for a couple of miles, to a bridge that has been closed for repairs for the past year. It'll be another year until it opens apparently, the council are useless at footpath and cycle path repair. If it was a road nobody would stand for it. The option is a long carry through some woods, up and down steps, over tree trunks. I did a bit of it, and got to the road where I carried on.
This took me to a little village called Caton, and from there I headed west into the hills. By this time the sun had risen over the mountains and was shining brightly. It was a beautiful clear day, no wind, even though the wind farm on Caton Moor was spinning wildly. I wonder if, when there's excess energy being created by the electrical grid elsewhere, they send it back to the windfarm to spin the blades?
I could see for miles. Off to the north-west, snow on the lake district hills. To the north, the yorkshire dales with a snowcap on each peak. To the south, a clear view all the way to Blackpool. To the west, the coastline and the blue horizon beyond.
After a steep climb up the side of the moor, I reached the first bit of off-road track. This took me down to the valley, and across a raging river via a bridge. There was black ice on the track, it was a bit tricky to avoid it in places. From the valley bottom a road led up through a farmhouse and then the real adventure was to begin.
I'd been on this track about 8 years ago with my friend Dave who now lives in Seattle. We biked up it with the intention of going right over the pass to the village of Slaidburn on the other side, and then back to Lancaster. In reality we were a bit late setting off, made it to the top of the pass where it was muddy and rutted, thought better of it, and bombed down the way we'd came. Dave got a very nice 'snakebite' puncture on the way down. Well, we were hurtling.
Since then, a friend of mine had told me that they'd surfaced the track with blacktop all the way to Slaidburn. That upset me, since it was such a good mountain biking track, and there's few enough of them round here. So it was quite a surprise to get to the last farmhouse on the road, and discover beyond the final gate was gravel. And mud. And rocks. And puddles. It was as I'd remembered it!
But this time, there was ice. Lots of it. An inch thick on most of the puddles. I crashed through them, the ice breaking with a sound something between that of plastic and glass. Sometimes large icebergs would cause my front wheel to slip, and I'd almost lose it. But I stayed upright. There were steeper sections where water had flowed down ruts and frozen into silver streaks, picked out in the sun which was right ahead of me. My front suspension meant I could avoid these bits, and ride on the centre of the track, over the bumps and rocks.
By now I was well into the valley. It is so isolated. You can see no roads, no habitations, no people. In two directions, up and down the valley, you get a long view, but otherwise you are enclosed in the valley. You could be anywhere, like Mongolia or somewhere. There's no sense of where you are in the wild moorland, tussocks of moss and heather amongst the short grass, icicles hanging from the peat as the water trickles over. Small amounts of snow from last night blown up against rocks and mounds. It felt like wilderness.
I only saw two other people on this track - on one motorbike, heading back down. The track is a legal route for motorbikes, and I had feared seeing lots of them. On my way through Caton I saw lots of trail bikes on trailers and white trucks heading up, and I worried that there would be a track full of them, but they all turned off at a farm house well away from where I was going.
By now I'd been on this track for a couple of hours, smashing through the ice-covered puddles, grinding my way over the rocks and boulders, sliding over the ice. I was now past the point where Dave and I had got to, and it was decision time on the route from here.
I could have carried on on the main track to Slaidburn, but that meant a long ride back to Lancaster. By taking a footpath from the main track I could cut off a large corner of the route. Although I felt I had plenty of time, I knew it would start getting cold once the sun started to descend, and it was now about 1pm. The problem with the footpath is that you aren't allowed to ride a bike on a footpath, but you are allowed to carry or push one. I took a look at the path which descended the hill from the track I was on and headed for a small side valley and decided it was worth it.
So now I got some upper-body training, as I virtually hauled my bike two miles over moorland. It was icy, snowy, and wet. I wasn't wearing boots. Before long my trainers were pretty soaked and my feet were getting cold. The bike kept slipping down the hill, and I just had to hang on and haul it back up. I carried it over several streams. Sometimes its an advantage, making you almost quadripedal. Push the bike out to see how soggy the ground is, and then jump the gap using the bike as a pivot. Or push the bike up a slope, stick the brakes on, and pull yourself up using the bike as an anchor.
On this path I saw a few walkers, it was definitely lunchtime, they were all sitting on large boulders, soaking up the weak winter sun. After a chat I carried on, aware that my feet were starting to get numb. I really needed to get pedalling again. A mile or so after that, I trudged into a farmyard, and passed a large snake of brightly-coloured hikers. From here a farm road led back down to civilisation, so I could finally get pedalling again, get some blood back into my feet, and remember where top gear was again.
I got to the village of Dunsop Bridge. This village is famous for two things - firstly its been decided that it is the geographical centre of Great Britain. And its also the site of British Telecom's 100,000th telephone box. The two events are commemorated together, with four pillars at the cardinal points of the compass around the box, with the grid reference written on another. There's also a very pretty village green populated by many ducks, and a little tea shop. I sat on a bench by the green and had some food and drink, and watched some very strange motorbike riders. It was the motorbikes that were strange, not the riders, they were clearly enthusiasts for this particular model, or an owners club ride or something.
Now I had a road ride home, with one particular obstacle in the way. The Trough Of Bowland. This is a pass that rises up into the hills, steep and winding. I tackled it in bottom gear nearly all the way, 3mph, occasionally picking up into second gear, 6mph, legs burning, heart pounding. When I thought I'd got to the top I discovered there was another section to go. I was nearly all out of energy, but made the top without having to walk any of it. There then followed a long, speedy coast down.
Now it was an easy ride home. I took a road that skirted some moorland, headed down a valley and then went past the place I first lived in when I came to Lancaster, 17 years ago. Its a big old house in the country, divided up into flats. I was now on roads full of memories. I nearly stopped in the village pub, it was tempting. Instead I popped into campus, where I had a few bottles of beer, picked up a couple, and carried on home for a hot bath and a cold beer.
Then I went along the riverside path for a couple of miles, to a bridge that has been closed for repairs for the past year. It'll be another year until it opens apparently, the council are useless at footpath and cycle path repair. If it was a road nobody would stand for it. The option is a long carry through some woods, up and down steps, over tree trunks. I did a bit of it, and got to the road where I carried on.
This took me to a little village called Caton, and from there I headed west into the hills. By this time the sun had risen over the mountains and was shining brightly. It was a beautiful clear day, no wind, even though the wind farm on Caton Moor was spinning wildly. I wonder if, when there's excess energy being created by the electrical grid elsewhere, they send it back to the windfarm to spin the blades?
I could see for miles. Off to the north-west, snow on the lake district hills. To the north, the yorkshire dales with a snowcap on each peak. To the south, a clear view all the way to Blackpool. To the west, the coastline and the blue horizon beyond.
After a steep climb up the side of the moor, I reached the first bit of off-road track. This took me down to the valley, and across a raging river via a bridge. There was black ice on the track, it was a bit tricky to avoid it in places. From the valley bottom a road led up through a farmhouse and then the real adventure was to begin.
I'd been on this track about 8 years ago with my friend Dave who now lives in Seattle. We biked up it with the intention of going right over the pass to the village of Slaidburn on the other side, and then back to Lancaster. In reality we were a bit late setting off, made it to the top of the pass where it was muddy and rutted, thought better of it, and bombed down the way we'd came. Dave got a very nice 'snakebite' puncture on the way down. Well, we were hurtling.
Since then, a friend of mine had told me that they'd surfaced the track with blacktop all the way to Slaidburn. That upset me, since it was such a good mountain biking track, and there's few enough of them round here. So it was quite a surprise to get to the last farmhouse on the road, and discover beyond the final gate was gravel. And mud. And rocks. And puddles. It was as I'd remembered it!
But this time, there was ice. Lots of it. An inch thick on most of the puddles. I crashed through them, the ice breaking with a sound something between that of plastic and glass. Sometimes large icebergs would cause my front wheel to slip, and I'd almost lose it. But I stayed upright. There were steeper sections where water had flowed down ruts and frozen into silver streaks, picked out in the sun which was right ahead of me. My front suspension meant I could avoid these bits, and ride on the centre of the track, over the bumps and rocks.
By now I was well into the valley. It is so isolated. You can see no roads, no habitations, no people. In two directions, up and down the valley, you get a long view, but otherwise you are enclosed in the valley. You could be anywhere, like Mongolia or somewhere. There's no sense of where you are in the wild moorland, tussocks of moss and heather amongst the short grass, icicles hanging from the peat as the water trickles over. Small amounts of snow from last night blown up against rocks and mounds. It felt like wilderness.
I only saw two other people on this track - on one motorbike, heading back down. The track is a legal route for motorbikes, and I had feared seeing lots of them. On my way through Caton I saw lots of trail bikes on trailers and white trucks heading up, and I worried that there would be a track full of them, but they all turned off at a farm house well away from where I was going.
By now I'd been on this track for a couple of hours, smashing through the ice-covered puddles, grinding my way over the rocks and boulders, sliding over the ice. I was now past the point where Dave and I had got to, and it was decision time on the route from here.
I could have carried on on the main track to Slaidburn, but that meant a long ride back to Lancaster. By taking a footpath from the main track I could cut off a large corner of the route. Although I felt I had plenty of time, I knew it would start getting cold once the sun started to descend, and it was now about 1pm. The problem with the footpath is that you aren't allowed to ride a bike on a footpath, but you are allowed to carry or push one. I took a look at the path which descended the hill from the track I was on and headed for a small side valley and decided it was worth it.
So now I got some upper-body training, as I virtually hauled my bike two miles over moorland. It was icy, snowy, and wet. I wasn't wearing boots. Before long my trainers were pretty soaked and my feet were getting cold. The bike kept slipping down the hill, and I just had to hang on and haul it back up. I carried it over several streams. Sometimes its an advantage, making you almost quadripedal. Push the bike out to see how soggy the ground is, and then jump the gap using the bike as a pivot. Or push the bike up a slope, stick the brakes on, and pull yourself up using the bike as an anchor.
On this path I saw a few walkers, it was definitely lunchtime, they were all sitting on large boulders, soaking up the weak winter sun. After a chat I carried on, aware that my feet were starting to get numb. I really needed to get pedalling again. A mile or so after that, I trudged into a farmyard, and passed a large snake of brightly-coloured hikers. From here a farm road led back down to civilisation, so I could finally get pedalling again, get some blood back into my feet, and remember where top gear was again.
I got to the village of Dunsop Bridge. This village is famous for two things - firstly its been decided that it is the geographical centre of Great Britain. And its also the site of British Telecom's 100,000th telephone box. The two events are commemorated together, with four pillars at the cardinal points of the compass around the box, with the grid reference written on another. There's also a very pretty village green populated by many ducks, and a little tea shop. I sat on a bench by the green and had some food and drink, and watched some very strange motorbike riders. It was the motorbikes that were strange, not the riders, they were clearly enthusiasts for this particular model, or an owners club ride or something.
Now I had a road ride home, with one particular obstacle in the way. The Trough Of Bowland. This is a pass that rises up into the hills, steep and winding. I tackled it in bottom gear nearly all the way, 3mph, occasionally picking up into second gear, 6mph, legs burning, heart pounding. When I thought I'd got to the top I discovered there was another section to go. I was nearly all out of energy, but made the top without having to walk any of it. There then followed a long, speedy coast down.
Now it was an easy ride home. I took a road that skirted some moorland, headed down a valley and then went past the place I first lived in when I came to Lancaster, 17 years ago. Its a big old house in the country, divided up into flats. I was now on roads full of memories. I nearly stopped in the village pub, it was tempting. Instead I popped into campus, where I had a few bottles of beer, picked up a couple, and carried on home for a hot bath and a cold beer.
bad dreams
Aaaargh! I've been shot! In the leg! Through the shin. There's blood everywhere. A medic. Looking for an entry wound. Ripping my trouser leg off. Blood. As the trouser leg is torn upwards from my boots, we get to the hole in my leg, red and ragged. Right in the shin.
I wake up and check my leg for bulletholes. Or insect bites. Or something. Nothing.
A train station. A sense of panic. Something terrible has happened. I'll call an ambulance. Get the phone. Call emergency. But then someone tells me there's no rush. No point. She's dead. No. Disbelief. Cant be. I call the police. She's been murdered. I realise I should have called the railway police, who are there behind me, and not the regular police, who take a while arriving. Meanwhile, I just stand there, stunned. They arrive, and then discover the murderer, dead, further down the station platform.
I wake up and convince myself she's still alive. She's still alive. She's still alive.
I wake up and check my leg for bulletholes. Or insect bites. Or something. Nothing.
A train station. A sense of panic. Something terrible has happened. I'll call an ambulance. Get the phone. Call emergency. But then someone tells me there's no rush. No point. She's dead. No. Disbelief. Cant be. I call the police. She's been murdered. I realise I should have called the railway police, who are there behind me, and not the regular police, who take a while arriving. Meanwhile, I just stand there, stunned. They arrive, and then discover the murderer, dead, further down the station platform.
I wake up and convince myself she's still alive. She's still alive. She's still alive.
My bike
After Taeko's little story about her Mama Chari I thought I'd write something about my wheels.
My old bike I bought over twelve years ago - an Emmelle Cortina, with one careful previous owner, for 200 quid. I used it pretty much every day, on and off road, up hill and down dale, across rivers and streams, through forest and snow. I fell off a few times, once smashing my elbow up such that I've still got screws holding it together, seven years later. I hit one car - or rather it hit me - and the driver bought me a nice new rear wheel.
But it was showing its age. I think it needed a few new components, and I saw a nice shiny Dawes Edge Team in the local shop. Hydraulic disk brakes, front air suspension. 650 quid. Mmm. So it became mine.
Do the maths. Old bike, 200 quid, good for 12 years. New bike, 650 quid, good for 39 years. I'll be over seventy. I dont think I'll ever need to buy a new bike again!
Sometime I'll post the story of the great off-road ride I had back in December. And of course I'll take some pics of my bike too.
My old bike I bought over twelve years ago - an Emmelle Cortina, with one careful previous owner, for 200 quid. I used it pretty much every day, on and off road, up hill and down dale, across rivers and streams, through forest and snow. I fell off a few times, once smashing my elbow up such that I've still got screws holding it together, seven years later. I hit one car - or rather it hit me - and the driver bought me a nice new rear wheel.
But it was showing its age. I think it needed a few new components, and I saw a nice shiny Dawes Edge Team in the local shop. Hydraulic disk brakes, front air suspension. 650 quid. Mmm. So it became mine.
Do the maths. Old bike, 200 quid, good for 12 years. New bike, 650 quid, good for 39 years. I'll be over seventy. I dont think I'll ever need to buy a new bike again!
Sometime I'll post the story of the great off-road ride I had back in December. And of course I'll take some pics of my bike too.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
By the left...
If I want a man in odd clothes and dodgy facial hair shouting at me and fifty other people, telling me what to do with my left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot I have two choices.
One, join the army.
Two, go to a ceilidh.
Neither really appeals. So that's why on Saturday night I didn't do any dancing, but I did get to talk to lots of friends at Chris and Eliz's wedding party. And because there was no bar in the hall, they were sober for a change. Apart from Big Chris, who promptly disappeared to the local Off-license to get some cans, and by the time the evening ended he was drunk enough to dance without the fifty quid financial recompense he said he originally wanted for participating.
One, join the army.
Two, go to a ceilidh.
Neither really appeals. So that's why on Saturday night I didn't do any dancing, but I did get to talk to lots of friends at Chris and Eliz's wedding party. And because there was no bar in the hall, they were sober for a change. Apart from Big Chris, who promptly disappeared to the local Off-license to get some cans, and by the time the evening ended he was drunk enough to dance without the fifty quid financial recompense he said he originally wanted for participating.
countdown...
I was pondering the word 'countdown' the other day, and have realised that NASA have got it all wrong. What they actually do is a 'countup'. I'll explain.
The flight controller goes 'T minus 10 seconds, 9, 8, 7'. So the count is going from 'T minus 10' UP to 'T'. Its a count-up.
I dont know why they call it a countdown, its not rocket science...
The flight controller goes 'T minus 10 seconds, 9, 8, 7'. So the count is going from 'T minus 10' UP to 'T'. Its a count-up.
I dont know why they call it a countdown, its not rocket science...
promotion
So as of August 1st I become a level 33 bureaucrat. Okay, so that's straight out of Futurama. In fact I'm being promoted to A/L/C Grade 3. I've been sitting at the top of grade 2 for a few years, which means I only get the incremental pay rises and not the exponential ones I'd get if I was jumping up the scale every year.
What does it mean? Well, more money. More perceived responsibility (am doing my best to actually take on as little as possible). A hearty handshake from a colleague, who seemed to think it was a big deal. I don't know. I feel now like I'm in a job that should be supporting a wife and 2.4 kids with my salary.
I think it just means it'll be sooner that I can quit the job, let my house out, and spend the rest of my time travelling and making films! Well, you've got to have dreams...
What does it mean? Well, more money. More perceived responsibility (am doing my best to actually take on as little as possible). A hearty handshake from a colleague, who seemed to think it was a big deal. I don't know. I feel now like I'm in a job that should be supporting a wife and 2.4 kids with my salary.
I think it just means it'll be sooner that I can quit the job, let my house out, and spend the rest of my time travelling and making films! Well, you've got to have dreams...
Monday, February 14, 2005
Ethernet Bracelets
ThinkGeek.com sell bracelets made from twisted pair ethernet. $13 for one. Owch. That's about 2c of cable and 20c of clasp. Still, it would make a great present for Chris and Elizabeth.
So I made my own. Took a red, green, and blue cable home and did some dissection. Stripped the inner twisted pairs from the outer. Got some clasps from the craft shop and fixed one to the end of the twisted pairs. Then I cut the outer sleeving up into short sections and threaded it onto the twisted pair. I made sure the sleeving didn't have any writing on it - you may want to use sections with writing. To stop the sleeving sliding off, the first short section can have one twisted pair run outside of it. If you want you can almost braid the sleeving with the twisted pair all the way along. Thread more sleeving until the bracelet (or necklace) is almost complete, then again put the last piece on so it is locked. Use whatever colour pattern you want. I used simple repeating RGBRGB for the bracelets but changed to RGBBBGRGBBBGR with longer blue sections for the necklace. Add the other half of the clasp and its done.
I made two bracelets and a necklace for C+E, and then found a nice presentation box from a local shop. On the inside of the lid I wrote "To Chris and Elizabeth, my favourite twisted pair".
Now I have to make some more for Jenny, because she thinks I was being really cheap! I'll try and get pictures for these though.
Here they are - a bit dark though...
[click for flickr page with more pics]
So I made my own. Took a red, green, and blue cable home and did some dissection. Stripped the inner twisted pairs from the outer. Got some clasps from the craft shop and fixed one to the end of the twisted pairs. Then I cut the outer sleeving up into short sections and threaded it onto the twisted pair. I made sure the sleeving didn't have any writing on it - you may want to use sections with writing. To stop the sleeving sliding off, the first short section can have one twisted pair run outside of it. If you want you can almost braid the sleeving with the twisted pair all the way along. Thread more sleeving until the bracelet (or necklace) is almost complete, then again put the last piece on so it is locked. Use whatever colour pattern you want. I used simple repeating RGBRGB for the bracelets but changed to RGBBBGRGBBBGR with longer blue sections for the necklace. Add the other half of the clasp and its done.
I made two bracelets and a necklace for C+E, and then found a nice presentation box from a local shop. On the inside of the lid I wrote "To Chris and Elizabeth, my favourite twisted pair".
Now I have to make some more for Jenny, because she thinks I was being really cheap! I'll try and get pictures for these though.
Here they are - a bit dark though...
[click for flickr page with more pics]
Weird weekend
So this weekend its Chris and Elizabeth's wedding. Firstly, I realise there's three of my ex-girlfriends/romantic entanglements at the wedding reception. Walking home yesterday I think 'wouldnt it be nice to hear from Jenny, to make the numbers up to four', and then there's one message on the machine. Its her. So I call back and we chat. So then I'm thinking, 'wouldnt it be nice to get an email from Julii? I've not heard from her in months'. Check email. There it is. Asking me a statistical question at 9:30pm on a Sunday night. So now I'm thinking that's every girl I've been involved with since 1993. Oh no, hang on, one more I'd forgotten about. Check email. Un-be-lievable. I've not heard from her for eight months, maybe had three contacts from her in the past seven years. She's dropped a quick note to say hi.
So over the weekend I collected the entire set of ex-girlfriends/romantic entanglements from 1993 to present day... It was like an episode of the X Files. Or maybe the Ex-files?
So over the weekend I collected the entire set of ex-girlfriends/romantic entanglements from 1993 to present day... It was like an episode of the X Files. Or maybe the Ex-files?
Lift off
Ground control to Major Baz.
So I meant to keep a paper diary this year, printed out a nice one, but picking up a pen is much much harder than just typing something these days. So here it is in e-form.
So I meant to keep a paper diary this year, printed out a nice one, but picking up a pen is much much harder than just typing something these days. So here it is in e-form.
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