I really hate uninteresting blogs. The kind which consists of a single entry every week or two, and every time it states “Sorry I haven’t made any updates recently. (insert excuse here) I’ve not been up to much recently anyway.” Every week! Sad but true.
That rant aside, here’s a fantastic example of exactly what I’m talking about.
Spent last night in a dark room with Paul, Kit and Claire, listening to a DTS-encoded 5.1 surround sound version of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon”. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve heard in a long while. The sound quality was unbelievable – the patterns moved and shifted around and through us. Quite stunning. I felt my heart rate change several times to match the beat
Nobody’s updated their web journal in several days except Kit. That makes my work morning a little boring.
We have a new guy working for us – Daniel – a school leaver who’ll be helping us for the summer. Alex and I are trying to get him talking, without any luck yet.
Suppose I’d better get on with some work, now.
Update (20th March 2012) – crosslinks:
- Paul’s post about getting to use his DTS system
- Kit’s post about the experience of listening to Dark Side of the Moon with us
As this hilarious BBC news story tells it, an artist came home to his Liverpool house to find that:
(a) A criminal had broken in to his home.
(b) Mistaking a piece of his artwork as a human head in a jar, the criminal turned himself in to the police to tell them about it. He also confessed all of his crimes to his mother.
(c) The police broke down the door and raided the house, and found that the contents of the jar were merely formaldehyde and a mask made from rashers of bacon.
Now I’m going home. I’m not feeling top-form today.
This news article, entitled Hunting For Bambi, amused me for a few minutes.
Spent last night on the beach with Andy, Alec, Paul, Claire, and others last night. Folks like Andy and Alec are in Aber for the graduate’s ball tomorrow, we we went out for a barbeque. I took along my new juggling gear and practised juggling flaming brands. I wasn’t very good at it. I need more practice. Today, I have burns all over my arms.
Later, Claire and I borrowed Paul’s dinghy and paddled around in the sea for awhile. That was fun, too. All in all, a good night.
Kit wasn’t feeling well and retired early.
Came in to work late today. This afternoon, in fact. I love it when I get a lie-in. Claire’s uncharacteristically less horny than usual. Down to about my level, for once. Hmm… Anyway: lots of work to do for the company’s presence at the Royal Welsh Show next week. Better go get on with it.
Feel strangely nostalgic. Perhaps a result of the retro-computer games I’ve been playing. Or the music Alex has put on. Or just too much caffiene. Ah well.
Butterfingers gave me a courtesy call at work this morning to tell me that my juggling gear will be delivered tomorrow. Which is nice.
It’s a stupidly hot day. The office needs desk fans. I’m melting here. I’ve been to the kitchen three times so far just to soak my head/hair from the tap to keep me cool. It’s just evaporating off. I’ve drunk all my mago juice and my cranberry juice.
There’s a storm predicted for Friday. Hopefully this one will actually happen as scheduled and the air temperature and pressure will drop a bit.
My arms are sweaty and sticking to the desk. Gonna take a walk outside.
Claire is at work. Kit and Paul are pickling eggs with our new supplies of pickling vinegar.
While the eggs boiled, Paul seems to have used my fridge poetry set to compose a pair of unusual haiku. They are as follows:
this is a sad symphony
about two lovers
and there death by pink chocolate
man with purple hair
woman with enormous friend
sordid drunk mother
Went for a pint with Paul and Kit at the Ship & Castle, which eventually turned into a long trek through over a dozen Aberystwyth pubs in search of pickled eggs.
A secondary highlight of the evening was my phone call to Rummers Wine Bar, leaving a message on their answerphone: “Good evening; my name is Daniel Huntley and I’m with the Welsh Pickled Egg Beurau. On behalf of the Good Pub Guide, we’re currently running a survey into the quality of pub pickled eggs, and we’re now in your area. If you could call me back on 07###-###### to arrange a visit, I’ll be in town all weekend. Thanks;” Kit and Paul creased up laughing. Well, you do, don’t you.
The primary highlight was getting to The Castle Hotel and seeing a quite spectacular band playing. Their bass guitarist/singer was extremely good, and the rest of the band were very listenable, too. Despite not having and pickled eggs, we enjoyed a couple of drinks there, were later joined by Claire, and finally went home to watch some Futurama.
Oh; and a guy (a patron, I guess) stripped off and started dancing in front of the drummer. Only in Aberystwyth.
I’ve discovered what Kit‘s evil plan is: he’s transforming Paul into another Kit!
Paul, like Kit (another jobless bum) now comes around to my house and tidies up in exchange for not being allowed to starve. Okay; it’s not quite that bad (or organised), but Kit’s quite obviously just beginning a long and complex plan, here.
I’ll keep you all posted.