Where's the weekend?

As we leave behind the final weekend before Christmas, I find that I am rather tired and not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. Nothing wrong with work per se, it seems to be going rather well, although a clearer idea of the new set up would help immensely. No, it's just because I am tired.

I slept very poorly on Friday night with many, but indistinct anxiety dreams brought on by the lack of clarity noted above. I think it will work out well enough with a bit of work and application on my part, but clearly my subconscious has reservations. It doesn't always back me up as much as I'd like. Anyway, that's for another day. The result was that I slept very poorly and when ellefurtle got up at God-awful-o'clock to visit her aged ancestors out in Dover Court, or Harwich or similar, I was wide awake but bleary. Saturday saw our hero accomplish virtually nothing beyond catching up on TV over iPlayer and I succumbed to a doze late afternoon whilst listening to podcasts on my iPhone. Furtle got home around 8.30 so we ordered in an Indian Takeaway and watched a few episodes of Buffy Season 4. Then to bed.

And despite being dog tired, it seems the afternoon nap had fooled my body clock just sufficiently to deliver a further poor night's sleep this time not helped by an attack of indigestion around 3.30am.

No lie in this morning to compensate. We were up, breakfasted and out of the Carpathia by about 10.00am so we could get to Writtle, the Furtle home town, to help her recently-moved parents with unpacking and such. We arrived in a cold and snowy Chelmsford, grabbed a taxi the last three miles and quickly investigated the village green and church to get a couple of photos before advancing upon the newest incarnation of Furtle-Towers. They were out. It seems that Furtle Minor had required a lift to the airport and ours being an unscheduled visit and all... After a couple of false starts we managed to make contact and repaired to the Wheatsheaf, one of the two smallest pubs I know, for some Real Ale while the parents turned up. Somewhere around that time, O2 decided to play silly buggers and I lost all data feeds to my iPhone, so I was unable to keep track on anything. It's times like that when I realise what a slave I have become to technology. It is, of course working again, now I am at my PC.

The rest of the afternoon was spent shifting mysteriously large amounts of stuffed toys around and adding them to the attic. We finished with Champers, ginnantonnix and yet another curry, before wending our way back to the Carpathia.

A very tired Furtle has collapsed into bed. Annoyingly, I am wide awake, but I shall have a shower shortly, and then try to get to sleep.

Where's the weekend?

As we leave behind the final weekend before Christmas, I find that I am rather tired and not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. Nothing wrong with work per se, it seems to be going rather well, although a clearer idea of the new set up would help immensely. No, it's just because I am tired.

I slept very poorly on Friday night with many, but indistinct anxiety dreams brought on by the lack of clarity noted above. I think it will work out well enough with a bit of work and application on my part, but clearly my subconscious has reservations. It doesn't always back me up as much as I'd like. Anyway, that's for another day. The result was that I slept very poorly and when ellefurtle got up at God-awful-o'clock to visit her aged ancestors out in Dover Court, or Harwich or similar, I was wide awake but bleary. Saturday saw our hero accomplish virtually nothing beyond catching up on TV over iPlayer and I succumbed to a doze late afternoon whilst listening to podcasts on my iPhone. Furtle got home around 8.30 so we ordered in an Indian Takeaway and watched a few episodes of Buffy Season 4. Then to bed.

And despite being dog tired, it seems the afternoon nap had fooled my body clock just sufficiently to deliver a further poor night's sleep this time not helped by an attack of indigestion around 3.30am.

No lie in this morning to compensate. We were up, breakfasted and out of the Carpathia by about 10.00am so we could get to Writtle, the Furtle home town, to help her recently-moved parents with unpacking and such. We arrived in a cold and snowy Chelmsford, grabbed a taxi the last three miles and quickly investigated the village green and church to get a couple of photos before advancing upon the newest incarnation of Furtle-Towers. They were out. It seems that Furtle Minor had required a lift to the airport and ours being an unscheduled visit and all... After a couple of false starts we managed to make contact and repaired to the Wheatsheaf, one of the two smallest pubs I know, for some Real Ale while the parents turned up. Somewhere around that time, O2 decided to play silly buggers and I lost all data feeds to my iPhone, so I was unable to keep track on anything. It's times like that when I realise what a slave I have become to technology. It is, of course working again, now I am at my PC.

The rest of the afternoon was spent shifting mysteriously large amounts of stuffed toys around and adding them to the attic. We finished with Champers, ginnantonnix and yet another curry, before wending our way back to the Carpathia.

A very tired Furtle has collapsed into bed. Annoyingly, I am wide awake, but I shall have a shower shortly, and then try to get to sleep.

A short week

It is the solstice today, I believe. The shortest day of the year and the last working Monday of 2009, the way the bank holidays fall this year. It should be a reasonable three weeks coming up: a three-day week this week, a two day week next week and then a three day week after that. Thus we juggle our annual leave to try and get some kind of break with both Furtle and me in the same place.

As much as I like the cold weather, I could do with a thaw, just now. The gutter is leaking above and just to the left of the door to the Carpathia, so there is a permanent shower of water coming from it - presumably there is a plug of ice somewhere, causing melt water to back up and overflow. We have some impressive (for London) icicles and the terrace outside the door is like an ice rink. Thank God for dishwasher salt. There is a slick of ice down the wall where the water has run and frozen. I noticed this morning that the extractor fan in the bathroom has stopped working. I am wondering if it is iced shut; there is no obvious reason inside why it should have stopped working. I shall have to try and see if I can tell by looking from the outside.

In other news, I had a good night's sleep last night, though another hour or so would have been nice, so I feel reasonably perky this a.m.

Note to self: buy chicken tonight.

A short week

It is the solstice today, I believe. The shortest day of the year and the last working Monday of 2009, the way the bank holidays fall this year. It should be a reasonable three weeks coming up: a three-day week this week, a two day week next week and then a three day week after that. Thus we juggle our annual leave to try and get some kind of break with both Furtle and me in the same place.

As much as I like the cold weather, I could do with a thaw, just now. The gutter is leaking above and just to the left of the door to the Carpathia, so there is a permanent shower of water coming from it - presumably there is a plug of ice somewhere, causing melt water to back up and overflow. We have some impressive (for London) icicles and the terrace outside the door is like an ice rink. Thank God for dishwasher salt. There is a slick of ice down the wall where the water has run and frozen. I noticed this morning that the extractor fan in the bathroom has stopped working. I am wondering if it is iced shut; there is no obvious reason inside why it should have stopped working. I shall have to try and see if I can tell by looking from the outside.

In other news, I had a good night's sleep last night, though another hour or so would have been nice, so I feel reasonably perky this a.m.

Note to self: buy chicken tonight.

We're Better, Connected -O2

I am a bit pissed off with O2 right now. There is no point to having an iPhone – or indeed any other Smartphone if the cellular data network isn’t working. And for the second time in as many days it isn’t – for me at least. A colleague of mine, also on O2, is smugly able to access pretty much anything he wants to on his iPhone 3GS. My humble 3G is sullenly silent regarding all aspects of technology more advanced than texts and phone calls. Of course, it’s not the phone, it’s the bloody network. It seems that yesterday he had connectivity problems, too, same as me. I just happen to have been selected by the Karma Pixies for special treatment.

Do O2 have a service status page? They do not. Not an official one anyway and the office firewall prevents me from accessing the unofficial forum.

I have been reduced to sending them direct messages on Twitter, would you believe? I am not holding my breath for a response.

We're Better, Connected -O2

I am a bit pissed off with O2 right now. There is no point to having an iPhone – or indeed any other Smartphone if the cellular data network isn’t working. And for the second time in as many days it isn’t – for me at least. A colleague of mine, also on O2, is smugly able to access pretty much anything he wants to on his iPhone 3GS. My humble 3G is sullenly silent regarding all aspects of technology more advanced than texts and phone calls. Of course, it’s not the phone, it’s the bloody network. It seems that yesterday he had connectivity problems, too, same as me. I just happen to have been selected by the Karma Pixies for special treatment.

Do O2 have a service status page? They do not. Not an official one anyway and the office firewall prevents me from accessing the unofficial forum.

I have been reduced to sending them direct messages on Twitter, would you believe? I am not holding my breath for a response.

Shortest day, longest walk

At lunchtime it was thawing, I'm sure it was; there was rain and everything - at least in Victoria.

And then, at some point in the afternoon it started snowing. Not much to begin with, so not to worry. But then it became clear that not everything was melting immediately. Admittedly in the Victoria area it was lying as slush, but slush is still ice, albeit very wet so I decided that it was probably best to leave. If it is lying in central London in any form other than water, the suburbs will be worse.

And so it transpired.

The Northern Line rarely fails to deliver and while the rest of London Underground was grinding to a halt because of the weather (before you laugh, remember that there is more of the Underground above ground than there is below it - this is one of the surreal truths that we Londoners love), the Karma Pixies on the Northern Line threw in trains stranded through lack of traction, PLUS multiple signal failures.

Thus it was that our train driver regretfully kicked us all out at Highgate and suggested we find alternate means of getting home. While I had been underground, the weather pixies had really gone to town: there was very little traffic - just the occasional car - and no busses. So we had to walk. I was not prepared for a walk. It's only 4.3 miles, but it was snow and ice all the way and I am a lardy boy. The first half was fine - very little traffic, as I said, not so many people about and fresh snow, but after that it became rather tiresome. The snow was well-trodden and slippery, meaning that baby steps were the order of the day. Then in the North Finchley area, it seemed as though it was beginning to melt and frankly, inside my coat I was just too warm. Nearer home it was colder and we were back to the compacted snow. Crivens, but I could feel it in my calf muscles. It wouldn't have taken half as long or been half as tiring if we could have walked properly, but for the last 2 miles or so that would not have been wise.

I think the bloody stuff is melting again, now, so I shan't have an excuse to stay home tomorrow!

I shall sleep well tonight, methinks!

Shortest day, longest walk

At lunchtime it was thawing, I'm sure it was; there was rain and everything - at least in Victoria.

And then, at some point in the afternoon it started snowing. Not much to begin with, so not to worry. But then it became clear that not everything was melting immediately. Admittedly in the Victoria area it was lying as slush, but slush is still ice, albeit very wet so I decided that it was probably best to leave. If it is lying in central London in any form other than water, the suburbs will be worse.

And so it transpired.

The Northern Line rarely fails to deliver and while the rest of London Underground was grinding to a halt because of the weather (before you laugh, remember that there is more of the Underground above ground than there is below it - this is one of the surreal truths that we Londoners love), the Karma Pixies on the Northern Line threw in trains stranded through lack of traction, PLUS multiple signal failures.

Thus it was that our train driver regretfully kicked us all out at Highgate and suggested we find alternate means of getting home. While I had been underground, the weather pixies had really gone to town: there was very little traffic - just the occasional car - and no busses. So we had to walk. I was not prepared for a walk. It's only 4.3 miles, but it was snow and ice all the way and I am a lardy boy. The first half was fine - very little traffic, as I said, not so many people about and fresh snow, but after that it became rather tiresome. The snow was well-trodden and slippery, meaning that baby steps were the order of the day. Then in the North Finchley area, it seemed as though it was beginning to melt and frankly, inside my coat I was just too warm. Nearer home it was colder and we were back to the compacted snow. Crivens, but I could feel it in my calf muscles. It wouldn't have taken half as long or been half as tiring if we could have walked properly, but for the last 2 miles or so that would not have been wise.

I think the bloody stuff is melting again, now, so I shan't have an excuse to stay home tomorrow!

I shall sleep well tonight, methinks!

While I remember... a challenge

A while ago, when I listed the songs against the stories for the Halloween story challenge, I mentioned that I might issue the same challenge for Christmas. Traditionally it has been a straight ghost/horror story in 500 words or less. If anyone is interested, this year I shall use the Halloween format and suggest that you use a song -title or lyric - as your inspiration and then let us try and guess.

I'll probably have a go, though I realise that I am not leaving much time for anyone if they want to get something written by Christmas.

Anyway, I know that I'm pushing my luck, so no pressure: it's just a bit of seasonal fun.

cross-posted yada yada

While I remember... a challenge

A while ago, when I listed the songs against the stories for the Halloween story challenge, I mentioned that I might issue the same challenge for Christmas. Traditionally it has been a straight ghost/horror story in 500 words or less. If anyone is interested, this year I shall use the Halloween format and suggest that you use a song -title or lyric - as your inspiration and then let us try and guess.

I'll probably have a go, though I realise that I am not leaving much time for anyone if they want to get something written by Christmas.

Anyway, I know that I'm pushing my luck, so no pressure: it's just a bit of seasonal fun.

cross-posted yada yada