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incandescensI shouldn't have had fish and chips yesterday for lunch. Now I want them again (and again and again). Shame on me. (They were the classic English cod and chips -- crisp, tasty, fried, with a smell that could turn heads at twenty paces. Sigh. Why was I such a fool, she cries.)
Work's being quite busy, especially now that we've all expanded the area we're covering, at the request of one of the other coding officers. I must find some way to express my gratitude. Oh, all right, it's not that bad, but getting several new queries the same day that we increased our boundaries . . . made me hope that she was also being kept amiably busy, that's all.
2.5 weeks till America. Hm. Lists, lists:
1) finish ironing process on tshirt with painted stripe. Wash it. Pray.
2) buy items for various people, such as copies of the latest Pratchett.
3) sort out bus and train tickets, because I get back on the Monday and return to work on the Tuesday, and I will not be wanting to do such a thing on Tuesday morning.
4) decide which damn DVDs I'm taking with me. (Onmyoji II, for instance, which is supposed to be released on Nov 2nd. Do I want to bet on finding a copy of it there, or do I bring along my DVD? Hm . . .) Do I attempt to expose my friends to the (subtitled) musical of Notre-Dame de Paris in the original French? Decisions, decisions . . .
5) Go up to London on Saturday. Because.
---
October
Look, how those steep woods on the mountain's face
Burn, burn against the sunset; now the cold
Invades our very noon: the year's grown old,
Mornings are dark, and evenings come apace.
The vines below have lost their purple grace,
And in Forreze the white wrack backward rolled,
Hangs to the hills tempestuous, fold on fold,
And moaning gusts make desolate all the place.
Mine host the month, at thy good hostelry,
Tired limbs I'll stretch and steaming beast I'll tether;
Pile on great logs with Gascon hand and free,
And pour the Gascon stuff that laughs at weather;
Swell your tough lungs, north wind, no whit care we,
Singing old songs and drinking wine together.
-- Hilaire Belloc
Work's being quite busy, especially now that we've all expanded the area we're covering, at the request of one of the other coding officers. I must find some way to express my gratitude. Oh, all right, it's not that bad, but getting several new queries the same day that we increased our boundaries . . . made me hope that she was also being kept amiably busy, that's all.
2.5 weeks till America. Hm. Lists, lists:
1) finish ironing process on tshirt with painted stripe. Wash it. Pray.
2) buy items for various people, such as copies of the latest Pratchett.
3) sort out bus and train tickets, because I get back on the Monday and return to work on the Tuesday, and I will not be wanting to do such a thing on Tuesday morning.
4) decide which damn DVDs I'm taking with me. (Onmyoji II, for instance, which is supposed to be released on Nov 2nd. Do I want to bet on finding a copy of it there, or do I bring along my DVD? Hm . . .) Do I attempt to expose my friends to the (subtitled) musical of Notre-Dame de Paris in the original French? Decisions, decisions . . .
5) Go up to London on Saturday. Because.
---
October
Look, how those steep woods on the mountain's face
Burn, burn against the sunset; now the cold
Invades our very noon: the year's grown old,
Mornings are dark, and evenings come apace.
The vines below have lost their purple grace,
And in Forreze the white wrack backward rolled,
Hangs to the hills tempestuous, fold on fold,
And moaning gusts make desolate all the place.
Mine host the month, at thy good hostelry,
Tired limbs I'll stretch and steaming beast I'll tether;
Pile on great logs with Gascon hand and free,
And pour the Gascon stuff that laughs at weather;
Swell your tough lungs, north wind, no whit care we,
Singing old songs and drinking wine together.
-- Hilaire Belloc
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