17:58 (SAT), December 30, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Hmmm. Very, very unexpected, but very, very good to know. Well, well, well. Who would have thunk it? :-)

08:24 (SAT), December 30, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Terrible night's sleep, or rather lack of sleep. Dreams in a semi-awake state of all manner of nasties, not least of which included this box being rooted. (Does that mean boadicea is rooted in my sub-conscious?)

Partial misinformation alluded to in an earlier post fueled a speculative (anti-) fantasy which added to the general state of restlessness during the night.

All in all not the best night's sleep I've had in a while.

08:14 (SAT), December 29, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Conversations are odd beasts.

First, there's the opening. This can be fairly extensively planned if you're initiating, in which case all you have to deal with is conversational inertia. Breaking the ice would be a fairly apt metaphor in this case. If, however, you're not initiating, then the burden is entirely upon the other party. Your first move is then just a subset of the middle game.

The middle game is perhaps the trickiest part of all. Here you need to find enough material to keep the conversation going without too many uncomfortable silences, and without resorting to Chandleresque statements ("So, that Ebola virus. That's gotta suck").

And finally, the exit strategy. If you're reasonably skilled in multi-tasking then this should be relatively straightforward if you can keep the middle game going for long enough to come up with a reasonable exit line. The trick is to avoid making it dismissive and at the same time not to open up any new avenues of conversation (although exit strategies that fail in this regard can sometimes be a boon to a flagging conversation).

Life 101. Tune in for more next week.

01:55 (SAST), December 28, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Recently I've avoided any form of offline blogging, partly because I think my patterns of blogging provide their own OOB data that's valuable (well, non-random noise anyway) in its own right, but mostly because I couldn't be bothered. But it's been a pretty event-filled weekend and with the whole Christmas malarky it's been some time since I've been near an Internet connection.

Where to start? There's no dough involved so that won't work. Sorry. I'll stop. I don't actually have the energy to go into the details so let's just say that this weekend has been fairly indicative that even if you're well-intentioned, hell even if there are no intentions, life is going to keep it interesting. Pretty impressive demonstration of the relative power of inaction. Man, I should have nipped this one in the bud but instead I assumed there was no need. I should have made my intentions (or lack thereof) clear from the start. Maybe, as suggested by a regular ear, I'm not to blame, but I'm still responsible for my situation. Dr Phil would be proud (that href's a guess, since I'm offline, but I'm going to leave it just in case). In my defence, I didn't really see it coming. Not until it sucker-punched me in the gut anyway.

Other than that, it's been a pretty uneventful few days. Christmas happened. Food, sleep, more food, more sleep. Blah blah.

Odd incident on Friday. I managed to convey in a single swift movement entirely the wrong impression to entirely the wrong person (namely the person at the top of my yo-yo). Had someone else not pointed it out to me afterwards I'd still be completely unaware of it. Most peculiar. Information gleaned subsequent to the non-encounter has been added to the growing pile of misinformation I've collected and has further warped the already entirely incorrect interpretation of non-existent events. My only hope at this point is that some form of overflow will occur and by sheer chance put me back into roughly the right ballpark.

So in many respects same old same old. Wresting demons, existent and non-existent. Making stupid calls and regretting them. Making terrific calls and then doing everything in my power to undo their positive effects.

14:53 (SAT), December 23, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Initially I just assumed this was your standard pining love song. But if you actually listen to the lyrics (instead of just the chorus) it's a pretty sinister piece of work. Nasty.

02:39 (SAT), December 23, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

I just got spam for a telex spittoon? Where the hell do they get these ideas from? If we could harness the wasted energy that goes into spam (both the construction and filtering of), hell, we'd have an energy source comparable to that available were we to engage the hot air Bush produces on a daily basis.

The three days leading up to xmas are like gold. They're the only time I have available in the forseeable future with no one directly involved in the project in the office. So this is the only time I'm going to have for any extended coding. And damned if I'm not going to take full advantage of it. Even if it is mostly g-string, er I mean pythong, ah hell, you know what I mean.

Feeling strong, perhaps a few more hours and then we can call it a day.

21:46 (SAT), December 21, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Sitting in Seth's lounge (a true geek lounge, with keyboards and tft monitors accessible from the majority of couches) eating chocolate and participating in the odd Google race (don't ask). The presence of a network connection mandates a musing.

A weekend of late nights spent exclusively at the house. Was finally privileged to be allowed to witness Wes in action. The man's a legend. The thing I admire most in Wes is his consistency. His ideas diverge from the mainstream in many areas, sometimes in the most bizarre ways, but always consistent. Physicists appreciate things like Wes because consistency makes it far easier to model a system. Wes and his buddy Wouter (sp?) tried to talk me out of getting a bike (still looking for one). This was a good illustration of his consistency. Half way through the conversation I could see Wouter waivering. I'm pretty sure he was thinking something along the lines of "Oh, crap, he thinks I'm a girl". He started to oscillate between pointing out how dangerous a bike is and raving about how cool it is to ride one. Wes on the other hand remained consistently opposed to the idea. I appreciate his consistency because it means he's never bullshitting me.

At about the same time it occurred to me that my position at the office has shifted fundamentally. I have a new responsibility. Actually, I have a few new responsibilities, but the important one is to act as a buffer between the people calling the shots (management) and the people pulling off miracles (devs). They don't seem to talk to one another. No, that's not totally accurate. The do talk to one another. They just don't tell one another the important stuff. I don't believe I can offer any fundamental solution to this problem but maybe I can mitigate things somewhat. We'll see.

An odd juxtaposition of realisations for the early hours of Saturday morning.

16:38 (SAT), December 19, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Time for a quarterly update. It certainly seems that's the case anyway. Time between posts seems on the increase.

Have said cheers to most of the people fleeing to greener pastures. Going to be a pretty quiet Christmas. Hardly much different from last year. Was chatting to someone earlier about Christmas. I've never really be very close to my family, with the net result that this is generally a particularly 'quiet' time of year. I don't want to use the word lonely. I tend to spend the Christmas period alone, but I wouldn't consider myself lonely. The world just kind of shuts down for a few days as people disappear into the dens they came from. It's not really a time you can spend with friends because they spend it with family, and I've done the Christmas-with-friends option enough times to know that feeling like a spare wheel is not the greatest way to spend the day. So barring the odd friend in a similar position, there tends to be minimal human contact around this time. Which doesn't bother me immensely (neither would human contact though, don't get me wrong).

Back less than three weeks and I can see the same old yo-yo state starting to emerge with respect to certain parties. The amplitude seems less, which I think I can attribute to the lack of time-related pressure that was ever-present. And I have enough on my plate between getting re-established and the new responsibilities at work (which everyone seems intent on pointing out to me, gah, leave it alone, I don't need to be reminded constantly). Of course I'm full of my usual tricks of reading more into things than are probably there. But that's my general approach to people: exaggerate the readings and then correct rapidly when you realise the plane is pointed straight down and the eta readout is in fact the altimeter.

Next year is going to be a challenge. That's me with my positive hat on. The bits of me that are less positive (and consequently have been horribly repressed where they'll no doubt lie dormant only to resurface in a few years time and pay for family holidays for a whole team of specialist psychiatrists) are sitting quivering with fear in the dark recesses of my De Broglie wave-function.

Funny how dynamics between people change. Accepted, a lot of them are because of the changes at work. As informal as they are, the project is pretty public and colours everyone's perceptions of things. As much as I believe it's inevitable it's a little unpleasant to suddenly find yourself disjoint from your friends. I'd almost prefer it if people swung over to the other end of the scale and paid absolutely no consideration to whether or not they were disturbing me. I feel a little like the bubble boy (except I can still get into the fridge).

All in all, there's a mix of certainty (or rather clarification) and uncertainty in the air with respect to me, my world, my future and my own plans of world domination. I think I'm breaking even at the moment, and I'm not sure I can really ask for much more.

09:12 (SAT), December 18, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Odd to think that I've been back from Melbourne for just over two weeks and yet I've spent most of that time saying good-bye to people. It's going to be quiet around here over the next while.

08:51 (SAT), December 12, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

QOTD: A guy's bike is like his girlfriend - you don't just get on and take a ride without permission.

The best bit is that it was completely impromptu.

11:23 (SAT), December 11, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Funny how the most unexpected people can make you feel appreciated. Even if all it's for is something that you take for granted that makes their life a little more pleasant.

20:45 (SAT), December 10, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

New Dido album is growing on me. At the moment this is at the top of the pile.

Have managed to scrounge a replacement phone while I fight with my service anti-provider. Now I just have to find out what my PIN is (the phone and I disagree on this point at the moment). I was vehemently against a cell phone until I got one. It seems I'm now dependent. It's not that I need to be talking to anyone at any given moment, but I seem to experience this odd (disconcerting) form of disconnection without one. It seems the potential for communication is more important than actual communication. I can well imagine in a hundred years or so people suffering from connection withdrawal. The world gets more connected (for the privileged few anyway) each day.

17:01 (SAT), December 8, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Well, since arriving back there has been a veritable outpouring of cash. But it means a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in (hey, it's even colour-coordinated). Crap but setting up 'house' is expensive.

Spent most of the day sorting out insurance, and the lease. All the boring crap that constitutes life as an independent 'adult'. The most pleasant part of my day has to have been dealing with Vodacrap who refuse to replace my handset because the "insurance policy covers your number and since you weren't roaming at the time your handset is not covered; oh, and by the way we're still going to continue charging you for a monthly service you can't use until you buy yourself a replacement handset". Bastards.

And to round it off our new estate agent. Despite the owner having given me the first set of keys to the place himself, she was hesitant to give me a second set. This after taking possession of a sum of money roughly equal to my left kidney. Holy fire retardant Batman, I think we're in asshole-ville.

I repeat. Bastards.

07:55 (SAT), December 8, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

Slowly the pieces are coming back together. So much to do. At least I have a roof over my head again. Still many things outstanding though. And just to keep things interesting my sleeping patterns are out of whack (relative to their 'normal' patterns). I'm awake between 5am and 6am each morning and start to go into hibernation at around 10pm, although last night seemed to prove that if I push through there's a resurgence at about 12am.

In a bit of a weird space. I feel I'm in a much better position with respect to my life and goals for the next year or two. Pretty much everything is squared away except for things pertaining to women, but I'm pretty much reconciled to that fact, I seriously doubt any guy is ever sorted in that department, so why should I be an exception.

Yet there's this pit of anxiety in my stomach which has developed over the last day or so. This would be fine if I had even the vaguest idea what I'm anxious about. I suppose it might just be the billion little things that moving implies. Could be the project (but I don't think so, I'm pretty confident about that). I guess all I can do for now is put the old head down and plough through my todo list and hope whatever it is either resolves or shows itself at some point.

It's good to be back, but more because of the people here than the place. I didn't realise the degree to which I'd glamourised this place. It's a great place to live, but so are plenty of other places. I suppose that's just an indication that a place is largely about who's there, rather than what's there.

19:42 (SAT), December 3, 2003, Cape Town, South Africa

I'll tell you something, it makes a pleasant change to have to look up to see the landscape.

11:55 (EST), December 2, 2003, Changi Airport, Singapore

Been idling here for about 2 hours now. Flight departs in an hour and a half. Warring with my inner consumer. Much electronics on sale, and me with a credit card linked to my life savings. This is the definition of temptation. But, I am stronger than this ... so far anyway.

Picked up a copy of Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance, largely because buying the last two books in the (10 book) series I'm currently reading would require buying the entire series when I get back, even though I'm unlikely to ever reread it. This is one of those quirks of mine that I'm not even going to try to explain. I live with it, so can you. Another good reason is that I fully expect to be searched by SA customs when I land, primarily because of the large volume of luggage I'm in possession of (5 kg overweight even before they turned me round and made me check in the 10.4 kg second hand luggage item I tried to sneak past the second scales...). The amount of crap I seem to have acquired, coupled with a sudden strong desire to be the father of a 14 year old daughter (watched Matchstick Men on the flight), has me convinced I'm turning into a woman. All I'm missing is the obligatory episode of synchronized empathy.

Anyway, ZATAOMM has been a pleasant surprise. Not only because I can identify 100% with the portions that relate to a long trip on a bike, but also because the other issue (the schism between what the author dubs the romantic perspective and the classical perspective) has struck a bit of a chord. Thus far, highly recommended. Regardless of whether or not you own a bike.

17:23 (EST), November 30, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Melbourne's Summer is looking more and more like Cape Town. Hot and windy. Unfortunately, I'm not out enjoying it because I have a few last minute things to organize, principally how to fit about a megaton of crap into the lone bag I arrived here with.

Got back from Sydney at about 11pm last night. But it being my last weekend in the city I couldn't very well just crash, now could I? Dragged Simon out of bed (bastard, sleeping at that hour of night!) and went out for a few beers and some pool. After Arcadia closed we tried (yet again) to find out where the general population goes after 3am. The majority of answers ran along the lines of "Bed", and while some of them may have been offers, I suspect the vast majority of them were just lies. So no luck there, yet somehow we managed to kill 2 hours only to find ourselves the last people in KFC (finishing off the remainder of their stock, all 10 pieces of it) at 5am. After 48 hours of near to no sleep I didn't really expect to make it that far. Tremendulous.

But now I must resume my attempts to manipulate the 3 spatial dimensions. Oh, and try to figure out how to get about R15000 worth of crap through customs undetected: "Is that a motorbike helment in your pocket sir?"

23:53 (EST), November 28, 2003, Sydney, Australia

Waiting for a tape drive to decide it is prepared to talk to me again. Some time to kill.

On the tram yesterday, flying back to pack to come out to Sydney to deal with a sudden crisis on-site, I noticed a guy in overalls, carrying the traditional big metal lunch box. It occurred to me just how different our average working days must be. He was on his way home at about 5pm. So assuming he got in at 7am he's had a 10 hour day. He probably takes a good solid hour long lunch, and I suspect at the end of the day he knows he's worked those hours. And I imagine his day seems a reasonably long stretch of work. A good solid chunk of time.

Then I look at my day. I always end the day feeling like there aren't enough hours to do all the things I need to do. And that extends easily to days that range all the way up into the 18 or 19 hour region. Even on those days it's usually with some degree of resignation that I finally up and outta there. Not that I claim to work 18 hour days every day. I have my fair share of stuff-this-I'm-outta-here days.

But I suspect that even when my working day comes in at 6 or 8 hours more than his, he probably feels more settled in what he does. I suspect (but have no way of knowing) that he feels he has accomplished a great deal in that day, whereas I tend to end the majority of my days thinking only of how much I failed to get through and what I need to get done tomorrow. I get less out of my more, while he gets more out of his less.

I think it has a lot to do with the fact that his sphere of work is rooted in the physical world, while what I do is almost entirely abstract. This places constraints on what he expects of himself, and what the world can expect of him. No one expects a lone builder to pull together a small replica of the Taj Mahal in a single working day. Yet that's the kind of common place expectation that floats around in the world of software. And worse yet, we perpetuate it by promising the impossible, and delivering, even if only in a very bedraggled beta form, just often enough to perpetuate the belief that it can be done.

I think in both cases you'll find people who love what they do. People who only want to do the best they can, for themselves and for those who depend on them. But being rooted in the physical not only makes introduces these constraints, but allows you to accept them in a way that is so fundamental most people probably aren't even aware of them. Take those limitations away and I suspect every trade would fall prey to this kind of positive feedback.

Of course, insight into why you think things are the way they are doesn't always provide you with a means to redress imbalances. My restore is nearing completion, back to the grindstone.

03:19 (EST), November 28, 2003, Sydney, Australia

Sitting in front of a terminal at a silly hour of the morning, watching (very likely inebbriated) people's money flow up the screen in the form of raw ATM message dumps. Simon points out that it's like watching code in The Matrix; initially it makes no sense, but after a few hours you can identify what's happening, despite the rapid scroll rate.

Must. Sleep. Soon.

11:35 (EST), November 27, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

School Fees (n)

A mistake that cannot be corrected and leaves you no option but to accept it and move on.

Synonym: Learning experience.

20:18 (EST), November 26, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Seems my political compass is set at (-4.00,-5.28).

12:46 (EST), November 26, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Funny how some associations happen so automatically you don't even notice they're there.

09:07 (EST), November 24, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Some people wake up with an annoying 80's one-hit-wonder stuck in their head. I get the Ouma rusks jingle.

Go figure.

05:08 (EST), November 23, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Sucks to that. End of a less than sterling example of how I'd like my average day to run its course. And here we sit, finishing debugging the third implementation of what should be a simple app to work around a simple bug in another should-be-simple app.

And now I crave KFC. 4am fried chicken seems to be developing into a regular habit. Of course, the chance of finding a taxi on St Kilda Rd at this time of the morning is quite small. The in office pool table is looking very tempting.

17:58 (EST), November 22, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Gah. Shitting death. One stolen cellphone later. I'm very unimpressed.

09:26 (EST), November 19, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Another night, another few hours of staring aimlessly at the ceiling trying to get to sleep. As much as I've enjoyed watching the sunlight creep up through my window in the mornings, there's only so much I can take and still get into the office by 8:30.

This used to be a breeze.

14:57 (EST), November 17, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Inside your helmet no one can hear you scream. Doesn't matter if it's jubilant or just terror induced. Either way it's great for the old ticker.

Debugging the Great Ocean Road. Wow. Landscapes on a scale I'd never imagined before. The sculptured coast is as an apt a name as any I can think of. From the road though, it's an odd mix of Mpumalanga with it's large Blue Gum plantations (although here they're meant to be there) and the Western Cape, with Hermanus clones every thirty or forty kilometers and gnarled, ground-hugging pioneer plant species hiding most signs of the ground. Thursday saw us at Arthur's Seat before taking a ferry across from Sorrento to Queenscliff, and then hugging the coastline into Apollo Bay where we stayed the night. A windless, 25 degree day had us thinking it couldn't get any better, but we were mistaken.

Friday saw us baking in 30+ degrees, without a breath of wind in the sky. We took a trip in a small plane which I can only recommend. You have no idea what the coastline really has to offer until you can see it in its entirety. The pilot was an American, roughly the same age as us, and since it was just the two of us going up he seemed a little more open to 'suggestions'. He even gave the controls over to me at one point, and although it's relatively straightforward, the screams of terror are a tad disconcerting and just generally bad form.

On to Lorne, cutting through the Otway National Park, and then from there to Warrnambool and in to South Australia. We stopped at Mount Gambier for the night and prepared for the long slog home the following morning. Fortunately, although we'd done about 630 km we were only about 500 km out of Melbourne as the crow flies. On the way back we did hook up with another pair of bikers, heading in the same direction and for a fairly long stretch we stuck together as a group, more I suspect because we were all pressed right up against the speed limit already and none of us were prepared to move even the tiniest bit slower than that. Biking in a group is actually quite pleasant. And a good way to learn the finer points. Much easier to watch someone else take a corner than to try watching yourself. Something else I noticed is how quickly the distance seems to pass by on a bike. I think it's largely because of the concentration required, especially on something like the Great Ocean Road, which seldom points in the same direction for more than a few hundred meters. After repeated 100+ km stretches on the bike, my backside lead the rest of my body in a revolt. It didn't help that by the time we got into Melbourne it was 40 degrees out. Hot enough so that come Sunday morning my bike stand had sunk about 1.5 cm into the tar where I'd left it.

I keep meaning to put down some thoughts on what it is I enjoy about being on the bike. There are a lot of things. Some of them sound like lunacy until you've actually been there (and even that I suspect wouldn't change many people's minds). There's the exposure you don't get in a car. To the noise, to the wind, the temperature, weather conditions, everything. The wind especially vexes me. I think the lighter bike I'm on at the moment makes me more vulnerable to sudden gusts of wind. Nothing like taking a right hand bend at 100 km/h, leaning into a strong wind, only to have it suddenly disappear, usually just as the 18 wheeler passes within half a meter of your head. As I said, inside your helmet ...

The wind, or rather air in general, is actually something you don't pay much attention to in a car. On this trip just passed, I noticed that I was being buffeted quiet heavily even with no visible wind to blame. I suspect what I was experiencing was pockets of air of different densities. At 100 km/h you pass through quite a bit of air every few seconds, so it wouldn't surprise me if this is indeed the case.

There's also the acceleration. Same reason I like traveling by plane: the acceleration at take off is great. Our bodies are basically accelerometers (as opposed to speedometers) so we are wired to perceive changes in our velocity, rather than the magnitude of that velocity. This is fortunate, since it is probably the principle reason that skydivers in freefall can stop screaming long enough to pull the appropriate cord. But it means very little of your drive in a car registers. On a bike, acceleration tends to be more severe and (usually as a result of the way your average biker tends to ride) far more frequent.

And the control. Learning to drive was fun to a large degree because it was learning. At the time it seemed impossible that you'd ever manage to learn to smoothly handle the billion different things that seemed required to pull away smoothly and interact with traffic without coating the inside of the windshield with a significant sample of your DNA. Learning to ride a bike gives you a chance to do this again so would learning to fly a plane or a helicopter), but it also seems to have persisted for longer. I think once they've mastered the basics of a car, most people relax a little and start to feel safe. After all, it's basically just a big couch on wheels. If things go horribly wrong, the reptilian part of your brain reckons things will be fine because you can just let go and the thing will slow down and eventually come to a stop (after stalling). Ignoring things like oncoming traffic and directional changes in the road of course (hey, the reptilian part of your brain did, so why can't I?) A bike is a whole different story. For the most part, if you simply relinquish control, you're going to be lucky if you retain enough motor co-ordination to drag the limbs worth saving away from the crash site. This is relatively likely even if you don't relinquish control, but simply apply that control in the wrong way. And the fact that motorists seem to range from not noticing you at all, to noticing you and actively trying to prune your branch of the human family tree. So I suppose there's an aspect of danger here too, which introduces the whole adrenaline spiel yadayadayada. To be honest, the adrenaline thing doesn't appeal to me directly, although the gut-wrenching I'm-still-alive-isn't-that-funny laughter that seems to follow that kind of bone-deep terror more often experienced on a bike than in a car is definitely a plus.

There are also aspects that I didn't know would appeal until this weekend, because they're the kind of things you don't notice until you're on the bike for a good few hours. You get the best of both worlds: companionship when there's more than one of you on the road, but time to yourself, because you can shout all you want and the other guy is probably not going to hear you. Gives you a lot of time to think, which is one of the reasons I like road trips so much. Another side to it, specific to the bike, is the concentration required, especially on the trickier roads. This usually leaves room for little else (aside from the occasional handful of cycles required to close the mouth and shut off the guttural scream of terror because the truck is gone now). I think too much. That doesn't imply anything about the quality of the things I think about, just that my brain doesn't like sitting idle. Flashing pictures (sound optional) is an effective but useless mechanism for eating up the cycles going spare (I've heard this phenomenon referred to as TV). Being forced to concentrate on something physical is a good way to keep the brain involved but at a near reflex-level, giving the cerebrum a chance to rest.

09:25 (EST), November 12, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Fornications and lound grumblings! Bah. Camera was due to be ready early next week but apparently they have a part on back-order, which will add 2-4 weeks to the return date. Criminy jicket and goose-feathers! That not only means no camera for the Great Ocean Road trip tomorrow (although this looks doubtful: I'm still recovering and Pieter seems to have picked up where I left off) and the potential Tasmania trip, it also means I'll very likely no longer be here and will have to smuggle it into SA in Simon's underwear.

I know there's nothing personal in it, Life is individual-agnostic. But that just makes it all the more frustrating.

Dreams of all of my long dead pets. Horribly depressing.

10:02 (EST), November 10, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Daar gaan die Bokke. Oh, well, maybe next time?

$300 to watch us lose, and badly at that. We didn't deserve to win. But, I have to go on record as saying how impressed I was with the various supporters we ran into on Saturday night after the game. We crawled out to a local pub with our tails between our legs to drown our sorrows. Fearing the worst we holed up in a corner and tried to ignore the beating we'd just been given. But, before you knew it, a Wallaby supporter had bought us a round of drinks, a Kiwi supporter had offered his commiserations and insisted that he still believed that SA rugby was the best the world had to offer and that we'd find our form before too long, an Irish supporter voiced similar beliefs, and more Scottish supporters than you could shake a stick at had shared a pint with us. My faith in humanity is largely restored.

Some photographic evidence of the evening's shenanigans exists. Mercifully little, fortunately.

On Sunday it occurred to me that I'm not sure I remember how to drive a car. I was thinking through it and realised that my automatic responses were declutching with my left hand and breaking with my right foot. It's quite incredible how quickly you adapt. Controlling my bike is almost entirely second-nature and it's been only two months since I bought it.

22:49 (EST), November 6, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

I hate it when we compromise our ideals for something as petty as money. I hate this feeling of despair even more. And I hate this blasted flu. Go away, I don't have the time or patience for you.

To quote a man of wisdom: "Bah humbug!"

12:46 (EST), November 6, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Up all night. Matrix marathon last night, ending with the simultaneous world-wide release of Revolutions. Something about preventing piracy in China ... ?

No comment on the movie, that might spoil it for anyone still planning to see it. So home at about 3am, only to lie awake until finally giving up on any thought of sleep at about 9am. And I think I have a mild case of flu. Ain't life grand?

18:07 (EST), November 3, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

I think someone sat on my optic nerve. All the balls on the in-office pool table suddenly have this squashed look to them. Or maybe it's the inevitable result of high-speed collisions with the surrounding walls. Between Simon "Light Speed" Clur and Pieter "Catapult" van "Winguard" neither the balls nor the wall stand a chance. We have chalk markings on the wall as high as 2m above ground level.

Maybe it's time to go home...

07:52 (EST), November 3, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Lots to say, little of any import so if you're looking for that best stop now and look elsewhere.

Weekend was spent 'outdoors' in the Ozzie sense of the word. Friday was dinner (kangaroo steak) to see a friend of a friend of a friend off. After dinner we strolled down to a small cafe/club (I forget the name) on St. Kilda road for a few drinks. A few drinks turned into a game of coinage which must have looked bizarre (some rules included putting a fist to your head when a tram passed by, saying "Simon is king of the world" before drinking, saying "Simon is a rotten bastard" before drinking, and saluting Liana before drinking). It seems I have a latent ability for coinage. Bizarre 'talent' to discover at the age of 25. Saturday was spent indoors, the weather here is even more tempermental than in Cape Town. Watched the SA match at Pint on Punt. An Irish pub on, oddly enough, Punt road. Stayed on to watch the Ireland-Aus game. Two 'enthusiastic' English fillies decided that Simon and I were the most wonderful examples of South African's they'd met (apparently SA men have a bit of a carrot stuck up their collective bums). But all in all an enjoyable evening out. And despite the close call in Sunday's Wales-NZ game, our tickets to the quarter final next weekend will in fact be to a NZ-SA game. Should be good. I don't know if my camera will be ready by then (Canon say it can be fixed, AU$130 later), but Scott has offered to lend me his, so I should be able to record the moment Pieter speeds out onto the field in his birthday suit ... oh, crap, I wasn't supposed to let anyone know. Damn.

Sunday was a quiet day. Admittedly spent almost entirely in bed having got in just after 2am, spent a bit of time on the phone back to SA, and then still read for a few hours.

The bike is still as much fun to ride. I think I'm getting to the dangerous point in my 'career' where I'm confident enough to start doing stupid things but I suspect only just skilled enough to write my name in internal organs on the side of a passing truck. But there are always going to be interesting moments that no amount of skill will remove. For example, if you think a sudden unexpected sneeze is problematic while driving a car, try it on a bike. Not only is the momentary lapse of motor control tricky to cope with, there's a pretty good chance you won't be able to see out your fogged up visor for a few seconds after you regain control of your limbs. I'm not really looking forward to giving it up, even for a short time. I think I'll arrange financing this week and hopefully have a few options lined up to look at for the weekend after I get back.

Melbourne Cup tomorrow. Another traditional outdoors Ozzie event. Little men on horses trying to outrun one another. What better excuse to break out some drinks? Not that these people need any excuses.

22:10 (EST), October 29, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Bias is a funny animal.

09:41 (EST), October 29, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Watched Kill Bill (vol. 1) last night. Classic Tarantino. Emerged filled with a desire to find a Samurai sword and relieve someone of their limbs.

Mechanical equipment, while a tremendous source of joy is sometimes a bitch. Left the bike standing over the weekend and it refused to start come Monday morning. Been push starting it on and off since. Last night we hauled the battery out and set it to charge. Spent a surreal evening watching it (didn't want to risk leaving it on the charger and potentially damaging it). Read until 3am and then set an hourly alarm to check on it. I'd almost forgotten what the world looks like after almost no sleep.

11:24 (EST), October 28, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

For the first time that I can remember in months, last night I had dreams I'd consider normal. At the very least I can hazard simple explanations for them.

Long chat this morning on MSN with someone most unexpected. A good thing. Time heals all wounds. But wounds leave scars. Some of these scars you cover up and try to forget. Sometimes you don't want to remember. But sometimes you brandish those scars like a badge of honour. Sometimes it's important to acknowledge that as painful as the experience that gave you those scars might have been, the lessons learned are worth it.

Listening to a band called the Saw Doctors, pilfered from an Irish friend. The Irish have to be one of the most patriotic people I know. I think I've always been a little envious of that. They also seem to be one of the most eloquent. Makes for an interesting mix.

16:22 (EST), October 27, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Happy Birthday Mom.

09:18 (EST), October 27, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

What a weekend. Friday night was spent in the company of Mickey D's and a good book. Pieter got me into the Wheel Of Time and now I feel this odd compulsion to finish it asap; 3 down, 7 to go. Saturday was horribly horribly lazy. I didn't leave the house until about 7pm when Summon simoned. Mistake number one was answering the call. We went out with the admirable aim of locating a pub that would show us the rugby. But alas, Acland Street has no such pubs. So back to Fitzroy Street to the Elephant and Wheelbarrow, an Irish pub of high standing in the community. But no joy here, the two owners were fighting because one wanted to watch the soccer and the other the rugby. The former clearly holds a majority stake in the enterprise. So a few pints, some inane rambling on topics of dubious quality, then off to Arcadia, pool hall of the gods ...

Mistake number 2. Not going home then and there. Sunday was ... unpleasant ... severely so. Mostly due to a head-ache that started at about 2am on Sunday morning, even before leaving Arcadia, and kept me awake until 8am, at which point I gave up and crawled up the street for some paracetamol. Little or no relief there.

Actually, Sunday morning has to have been one of the most surreal experiences to date. For a few hours I lay half in the land of waking, half in a bizarre compiler-based dreamworld, writing pl/sql code in the air. During this time the head-ache seemed to subside, but everytime I introduced a syntax error it returned with a vengeance. Yet for some reason I couldn't bring myself to stop. This despite being aware of the correlation and having many long serious conversations with myself to trying to convince me to stop. And before you ask, this was before taking any of the stuff I bought from the chemist.

But eventually, despite my many prayers for salvation in the form of a quick painless death, the world resolved back into focus. Just in time too. We had tickets to the England-Samoa game, which turned out to be a cracker of a game. And great tickets at that. Ten or so rows behind the players entrance onto the field.

The evening would have been superb if not for the English supporters. If last night did nothing else, it cemented my belief that the English should not be allowed to spectate. Regardless of their age, regardless of their upbringing, education, status in the community, they all seem to turn into the same mindless, drooling, antagonistic bastards when you put them in front of one of their teams. Especially when they're taking a thumping from a side they should be beating easily. So to all the English sports fans out there ...

PISS OFF

08:53 (EST), October 24, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

I find myself vaguely disturbed by how easily, and effectively, I seem to have dissociated from my previous life. It wasn't intentional. And it isn't complete. But the extent is surprising. I miss the people back home. I miss all the friends who understand my quirks and who seem to be on the same wavelength. I miss things I took for granted, like braais on a Sunday afternoon. But despite all of that, if I'm completely honest with myself, what's going to ultimately be the driver for my return won't fall under the heading of pull factors. I'll be leaving here to go home.

At least I'm still thinking of it as home.

20:28 (EST), October 23, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Suddenly I find myself considering the bailing option again. Oddly enough it seems others are too. Sigh. When did it stop being fun? I don't think I got that memo...

11:06 (EST), October 21, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Three words: wet tram tracks.

Fun. Nearly lost it in the rain this morning. Them tram tracks they be darn slippery y'all. In the words of a colleague, shitting death. Hoo aah.

18:42 (EST), October 20, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Do the Italians have the right of it?

08:23 (EST), October 20, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Every silver lining has a cloud. I lost track of the number of times this weekend I was accused of being a cynic. It would probably have been a lot higher if I'd made any attempts to deny it.

Weekend was full of surprises. Wait, that word has positive connotations. Bah, it will have to do. Friday was a farewell for someone I met last weekend. Any excuse for a party in this country. Of course, it's all a bit twisted anyway, because this particular farewell was for a South African who's heading home. To Cape Town. But, who am I to turn down an invite? The evening started out in a small bar in Prahran. Very intimate, or would have been if I'd known more people. Simon couldn't find the place and bailed and Pieter and Mezz pre-empted the planned move across the road to a club called Boutique, but didn't get in and so they bailed. Which left me alone with a large bunch of newly acquired friends. Shortly thereafter we attempted the scheduled crossing but were denied. Some of the group got there first and broke the first rule of going out: never argue with the bouncers. Let it not be said that these people are not resourceful. Just across the road we found a (very) small bar run by someone with a slavik accent, and proceeded to take over. The SAS would have been proud. Eventually, some two hours later, he regained control and explained (quite nicely I thought) that if we didn't leave he would be in a tremendous amount of trouble, and no he couldn't lock us in and leave us there. So off to the next destination, which turned out to be a (very) gay club in Commercial Street. So I can now safely say that I've had the Australian Drag experience. In glorious technicolour. Including at least two renditions of "I Will Survive". Sometime after that we crawled home. Hooo-ahh.

Saturday was spent in a state of relaxation. And not entirely as a result of Friday night. Sunday was the moto GP so we took Saturday to clean up the bikes and recharge in preparation for the 120km ride down to Phillip Island. The Rugby was a bit of a downer but the loss means there's a reasonably good chance I'll see SA at the quarter final here in Melbourne. And to head off any smart comments, someone else pointed that positive side out to me, so *rasp* to you too (that one's for our Beano readers).

Sunday was the Moto GP. We left with an ominous cloud overhead that I should have paid more attentioned to. By the time we got there, feeling in my feet had vanished, and my clothes held more water than my fuel tank. It was cold, wet, and muddy. And did I mention wet? The races were phenomenal, especially the premier class. And Rossi was unstoppable, even a 10 second penalty couldn't stop him from winning (by a 5 second margin). But the ride back was the best part. Thousands of bikers on the roads and every town and suburb on the way back turned out to wave us past. Felt like a bit of a hero. Fitting after the morning.

And had that been it the weekend would have been superb. But as I said, every silver lining had a cloud. Apparently, the Cannon Digital Ixus 400 is anything but waterproof. It doesn't even claim to be vaguely water resistant. And it seems, neither is my case. So at this point in time, she no work no more, the ride down having done its worst. I'll find out today if it's going to be worth trying to get it fixed, or if I should just look at replacing it. In the words of ... oh, that's right, myself yesterday .... --expletives deleted to conserve Africa's bandwidth--

Needless to say, there are no photos. Bah.

18:28 (EST), October 17, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Moto GP on Sunday. Me and thousands of other riders will make our way to Phillip Island to watch a few brave (?) souls fly around a race track on bikes at ~ 300km/h. With that many on the roads odds of us making it there are favourable for the majority. Sometimes I suppose being the minority sucks. Hold thumbs.

Random thought with which to fuel paranoia. The most effective way to ensure people don't realise that something is happening is probably to make a movie about it happening. For example, there's no chance the average intelligent person is going to ever believe that we're living in a Matrix, certainly not after a movie was made about it....

21:55 (EST), October 16, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Time to go home. I know this because my code is starting to look like this:

		# Right, this is definitely a hack.
		... blah blah ...
		
		# Another nasty hack
		... blah blah ...
		
		# Hack
		... blah blah ...
		

And yes, it's python, scourge of the scripting world. Blah blah blah bleh.

20:44 (EST), October 15, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Surreal experience just now. Looked up from a game of pool at a map of South East Asia and Australia but before recognizing it as that my brain labeled it as a fractal. I think it was triggered by examining a large map of Australia earlier today. The two images must have triggered a memory from all those years playing around in the Mandelbrot set. As a sequence they must have looked rather like zooming out.

It was rather like staring at something familiar for a while only to have it suddenly stop looking recognizable at all. Hell, who needs acid ... I've got my brain to keep me entertained.

09:00 (EST), October 15, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Ok. So you know you're hooked when you start taking anything but the most direct route home. Went home via Brighton last night, which is on the other side of my place from where I started. I'm also settling into the bike, and starting to get a little more aggressive on the road :-P

Oh well, at least I have medical insurance. Oh, wait. No I don't. Damn.

Noticed something last night that should have been obvious to me. A genuine smile can make even the most plain woman look absolutely stunning. The same may apply to guys but I honestly have no idea (hey I'm a 90's guy, but I'm not that in touch with my feminine side).

10:22 (EST), October 13, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Pretty full weekend. Two World Cup Rugby matches live at the Telstra Dome. Managed to squeeze in the opening ceremony at a pub off Flinders Street, the SA game on Saturday evening, and a large segment of Melbourne's nightlife. Souvlaki happened at 4am on Saturday after a very surreal sequence of events.

Have you ever noticed how much learning you do 'offline'? I noticed this properly for the first time at varsity. Each year you'd come back to a course that picked up where the last one left off and pushed the boundaries. It always amazed me how settled the knowledge you'd picked up the previous year was. It didn't matter that you'd wailed and gnashed your teeth all through the course, come the following year, for the most part the foundation was there. Some processing had to be occurring during the vac.

Same thing applies to physical skills. Learning to drive, juggle, or ride a bike. Despite not having used the bike for anything more than screaming into work each morning and wailing back home in the evenings yesterday, when I jumped on to race through to the Telstra Dome, everything was much smoother. The realisation came halfway through a sharply banked turn at 100km/h coming off the M1, which seemed as natural as breathing. Probably not the best place for breakthroughs of any sort, but there you have it.

Back to the grindstone. The boss arrives this weekend to survey the carnage I'm leaving in my wake.

19:23 (EST), October 8, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Apparently some people can't read. For the record I haven't started smoking. Bah. Rumours.

09:16 (EST), October 8, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Song for the day. Been rolling around in the cavern above my eye sockets for a few days now.

13:50 (EST), October 7, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Eyes front soldier. Focus on the code and you won't get into any trouble. Bah.

20:38 (EST), October 6, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Paraphrased from a book I'm reading. Touched a bit of a nerve last night.

"You cannot escape the iron parameters of your old life by jettisoning the outer shell. Travel might erase the signs others draw on you but it only etches deeper what is written inside."

08:47 (EST), October 6, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Hmmm. It seems there's a high statistical likelihood that I'm a teenage girl. And I thought I was just putting on weight.

16:45 (EST), October 3, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

The smoking thing got me thinking just now. It seems that there's a pivot point in most people's lives (that I know anyway) where peer pressure seems to invert.

When I was younger, peer pressure usually meant following the right crowd. You owned a certain brand of shoes because it was the 'right' brand to own. But at some point this changed. Sometimes I feel a need to prove to the people around me that I'm not doing something because it's the cool thing to do but because I want to. This is probably a reasonably healthy sign, since it seems to herald a switch from a need to conform to a need to mark myself as an individual. "I do these things because I want to".

10:41 (EST), October 3, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Ah, shit. They all smoke over here.

09:35 (EST), October 1, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Pretty weird collection of dreams over the past few days. Bit of a marathon night before last, although I can only remember a few of the disjoint sequences. Common theme seems to be rejection by people important to me, although at least one involved gene splicing. Don't ask. Climbed the slippery slope back to consciousness an hour and twenty minutes after my alarm was supposed to have hauled my sorry ass out into the light. Shit and hell, in the words of a friend.

Watched American Splendour last night. True story about a guy (a terminally depressed guy) who decides in the 60's to write a comic book based on his life, sparing no details. The original blog. It seems he's still going (the title of his comic is the same as the movie). Two things impressed me: his adherence to telling it like he sees it, sparing no-one (which does not imply that it is as he sees it); and his consistency. He manages to spend his entire life seeing the worst in everything.

Complete honesty, especially when there's a chance people you know will see the material, is very hard. I've never managed it. Every post I make to this page is preceded by an internal struggle to decide what will and won't make it, and how much detail to provide. Which is not great, since this page is for me, not for you. There are ways around this. Be so obscure that only you actually know who or what is being referenced. Or, as a last resort, encrypt the posting, choosing the level of encryption based on who you do or don't want to read it.

Casting an eye over the last year or two's worth of contents on this page it occurs to me that my postings have either gotten more cryptic, or less revealing. Probably because I know there's an audience of sorts (not a very big one, I have no illusions of grandeur). Funny how that affects what you say and how you say it.

Consistency is something else all together. Everyone jokes about how they're a cynic, or the eternal pessimist (or even optimist). But I don't know of anyone who manages to consistently exhibit whatever attributes they ascribe to themselves. It's hard work being consistent. Even if it's being consistently bad.

I think these two things, honesty and consistency, are good measures of how much stock we put into others' perception of ourselves. Honesty is stifled for the most part because it might tarnish the image we want others to have of us. And I think consistency is generally hard, at least in part, because we take opportunities that we believe in some way will improve that image.

09:36 (EST), September 26, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Dreams of street louge. Awoke rested but filled with a need to dice with a large truck. Caught a tram in to work.

10:02 (EST), September 25, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Watched two bands play in Swan street last night. The Polaroids started things off with pieces like If you ever leave me I'll hunt you down and kill you and I want to execute your ex-boyfriend. Following them were the Whitlams, a fairly well known band out this way, although I don't think they've seen much international recognition. Pretty good stuff, quite enjoyed it.

Friday we go to see Thirty Odd Foot Of Grunt, fronted by Russell Crowe himself. Must remember to take an extra pair of underwear with so I can toss it up onto the stage.

09:28 (EST), September 23, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Today, I'm running on pure enthusiasm. Didn't get much sleep last night. Tossed and turned into the small hours of the morning, head filled with places long since gone quietly into the night.

Do you remember spending the weekend with Brendan, driving from one point on the peninsula to another? I so desperately tried to work up the nerve to grab you by the hand. Sunday lunch with your parents? Making fruit salad? Spending the afternoon in the Cape Summer sun reading the newspaper?

I never fathomed your Sunday no-work rule, but marveled that you never gave in and broke it. I remember my first 'short' trip in my grandfather's car, which ended outside your door.

You're embossed on my past. Your stance. The way you push your hair back. The slightly edgy sarcasm in your laugh. The way you still know the (usually stupid) reason I'm doing something. There'll always be space in my future. I think the reason it took so long to finally get to sleep last night is that there's so much to remember.

11:34 (EST), September 19, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Quite a disturbing read.

09:33 (EST), September 19, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

This song is currently stuck in my mental playlist. There are lots of reasons I like this song. In particular, I like the start of the second verse (Fix your hair just right).

Now most people I know, or rather who know me, probably think they know why it appeals, or at least that given a chance they would have guessed that that particular portion of the lyrics would appeal to me. I suspect most of the former group would be wrong.

The reason I'm such a fan of this particular band is that Adam Duritz's lyrics, while often classed as depressing, capture succinctly a lot of how the world works, usually at a pretty personal level. Most people can identify with the majority in these kinds of things, and most people, given a few hours or days or weeks, could probably convey a description of these events to someone else. But it takes a talent, gift if you like, to capture something that complex and personal in one or two lines. Mr Duritz manages admirably, from whence the appeal. In this particular song he captures two things specifically: the importance of what I suppose you'd call lust, or at least the fact that it forms such a big part of attraction (wear a dress...). But just after that we run into a bit of a counter point (I'd like to see your eyes...). This just plain old appeals to me. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I want to be that to someone. But just as importantly, I want to have someone that I want to be that to.

09:00 (EST), September 19, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day. Avast ye landlubbers.

19:13 (EST), September 18, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

The days are just packed.

15:24 (EST), September 17, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Hmmm. Postings have been a bit sparse lately. Been fairly busy. I'd tell you what I was up to but I'm afraid I'd have to kill you (sorry, that threat is almost obligatory by the time you hit the third word in the sentence).

So this posting is going to consist of a few random pieces of useless information that will probably constitute at best a random fleeting thought when The Internet achieves self-awareness simply through the sheer density of crap stuffed into one virtual space. I'd use the term slashback but that's always conjured up an image of someone pissing against a wall (lovely) and just seems downright inappropriate.

I'm enjoying the bike. More than I did initially but that was probably largely due to the stress of trying not to end up with a large truck embossed on my forehead (in the words of a helpful safety pamphlet I came across the other day). Generally getting a little more 'proactive' (I was going to use aggressive but that would probably just upset people). Navigation on a bike is much more exciting than in a car. You can't stop and haul out a map without removing most of your gear. Certainly your gloves, and the backpack, and that usually means the helmet. So generally you need a reasonably good picture of where you're going (and the surrounding area for when you invariably miss one of the roads). But I've managed so far, so no serious hassles there.

There are a few reasons I enjoy the bike. Pieter reckons one of the things he enjoys most is being able to pretty much ignore crap traffic conditions. This isn't really an issue for me. I suspect I'm largely alone in this but I don't really mind traffic. I'd prefer not to spend too many consecutive hours waiting for a 90 year old woman to decide whether the stop sign in front of her has any real chance of turning green, but in general I'm ok with it. Nah, I like the bike for completely different reasons. There's the obvious thrill of the acceleration (and knowing that you can take any orange light you want to is pretty cool). I like the fact that you have to concentrate so much harder; there's so much more of your body involved. I don't often manage to disconnect but the bike lets me do that. I suspect that will wane somewhat as I get more comfortable on it.

And there's the exposure. No seatbelt. No nice comfy crumple-zones. You're pretty much on your own. I don't think of myself as an adrenaline junky but sometimes that edge it pushes you up onto is a nice place to be. The world comes out in a starker contrast and perspectives solidify a little. Sometimes you need that.

I really like Melbourne. It's the first place I've been to that I've seriously considered what it would be like to live in, and not had to put together a list of things to justify why it would be a good thing (strong currenct, travel, etc). It just feels like somewhere I could call home. Except that its missing my friends. So while I'm enjoying it here, I'm looking forward to seeing all of them again and exchanging crude remarks and witty (well, arguably witty) retorts with like-minded people.

And I want to hear the bushveld again, dammit.

09:09 (EST), September 15, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Crushing dream last night. Stupid limbic system. I fail to see the evolutionary advantage there. Bah.

But apart from that an all round great weekend. Wine Tour on Saturday, Bike Expo and a short ride on Sunday. Asian take-aways (let me qualify that, cheap, superb Asian take-aways) and bad TV. Fantastic.

11:56 (EST), September 12, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Hahahah. Suckers! While the rest of the working world slaved in front of their keyboards (or equivalent office equipment) I took to the hills surrounding Melbourne on my new toy. Of course now everything hurts .... but it was worth it.

13:48 (EST), September 10, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Personal Rule #4: It never hurts to be polite.

08:38 (EST), September 9, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

That was unexpected.

On a related note, there's a pier here, just north of Brighton beach that is remarkably similar to the pier just off Brighton beach in the yuk. Well, similar in all respects except that it isn't covered in an explosion of American-style carnival lights and the beach is covered in sand rather than small asteroids.

On a completely unrelated note, I have found a new habit-forming substance which I'm trying to avoid taking to, lest I turn into a mass of quivering nerves with nothing more than vague steerage provided by a slightly denser concentration of nerves slightly higher above the ground than the rest: chocolate covered dark roast coffee bean shrapnel. Admittedly they don't market it in quite that way.

Highly recommended.

17:10 (EST), September 8, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Wednesday. It comes. Prepare yourself.

12:45 (EST), September 4, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

The most sobering statistic I've seen in a while: In the state of Victoria, if you satisfy all of the following criteria:

1. You are 18-25 years of age;
2. You are male;
3. You don't own a motor car;
4. You own a motor bike and
5. You ride to school, university, or work 5 days a week on said motor bike

then you have a 100% chance of not making it to your 25th birthday.

09:31 (EST), September 3, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Some pics of the lads having a bit of a puff.

08:25 (EST), September 2, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Oh, the place I'm staying in is right behind the Daily Planet (ho ho ho).

Up, up and away?

15:16 (EST), September 1, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

I know a few people who are capable of an endless stream of vocal output. Sans interruptus. I'm not capable of this particular feat. Cease verbal feedback and within a short period of time my output grinds to a halt.

So I seized upon an opportunity on Friday night to watch two sisters (Pieter's girlfriend and her sister, who reminds me uncannily of Andria's sister) who are masters in this field. This gave me an opportunity to try to understand how the transition from one topic to another happens. I don't think I've quite cracked it but there are a few key points that could be the start of a reasonable algorithm to simulate this form of interaction. The first is redundancy. You can't be scared of repeating yourself (three or four or five times). The second is error correction. You have to be prepared to sow a few obvious errors that you can come back to later to correct (providing a small volumetric padding effect). These errors also ensure that if a particular branch dries up you can return (and so they should be sown in the most fertile branches).

Met a few Tasmanians on Friday night but they failed to spin off in a whirlwind of gnashing teeth and high pitched squeals. Experienced a Melbourne 23rd birthday party on Saturday night with the same crowd of Tasmanians (a pretty entertaining crowd). Oh, and I learned to drive the great big death machine (known to some as a motorbike) in 4.5 degree weather, at night, during intermittent showers. Spent much of Sunday repeatedly counting my fingers to ensure it was a lossless operation.

14:24 (EST), August 29, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Great excitement. There's no smoke without a fire is not always completely accurate.

09:57 (EST), August 29, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

An interpretation has been offered up.

		reading your and Wesley's news this morning.
		
		the "older brother" is the younger boy.
		
		the fight between older and younger boys, and the incident with the
		girlfriend, are the same event.
		
		or, a pattern - of rejection or defeat - which was established in childhood
		and continues.
		
		haha! I have just been interpreting a dream for one of my colleagues, so I
		am all fired up :)
		

08:25 (EST), August 28, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Weird dream last night. Periodic recurring one too, just with a period ~ 1 year.

Group of young boys (probably 10 years) on a farm of sorts. I think it might have been something like Boys Town. At some point they are overrun by older boys who then proceed to beat the living crap out of them (in that caring, friendly way that adults seem to think is just rough housing). Zoom in on our hero, one of the smallest boys, who rallies them to fight back. Incredibly successfully. To the point where the tables are entirely turned, until ...

Enter an older boy, similar enough in physical appearance to our hero so that it's obvious they're related. This seems to have a devastating psychological effect on the young hero of the story and the victory of the younger crowd is undone.

At this point we hit a bifurcation. The story usually ends there, in humiliation and defeat. This time round though the 'camera' pans left to the arrival of a young lady of about the same age as the older brother. Witness the same psychological effect on him, the same humiliation and defeat, at the hands of his girlfriend (it turns out).

Anyone care to venture an interpretation?

14:54 (EST), August 22, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Australia, land of the alliterative slogan. Witness:

• Slip, slop, slap
• Don't do your dash.
• Wipe off five

Okay, so the last one isn't alliterative. But Wipe off one probably wouldn't be quite as effective (assuming people actually pay attention to this stuff) and Frow away five, well ... yeah, stupid. Gotcha.

10:57 (EST), August 21, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Where would you rather be a member of an oppressed minority? Melbourne or Cape Town?

Sometimes the world really sucks.

14:16 (EST), August 18, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Everyone here is so damned nice. Sorry to harp on about it but it really is quite unexpected. And it seems genuine.

The amount of concern leveled at me by the pharmacist down the road when I popped in to pick up some headache tablets was completely out of proportion to the ailment. As a result of said transaction I now have a sample of the best three countries have to offer in this department. From this comes:

Personal Rule #3: Always have paracetamol at the office.

23:15 (EST), August 18, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

It occurs to me that your life is not unlike those mosaic's constructed from hundreds of small tiles. At various points in time there are bands of colour and patterns that are pleasing to the eye. But through the course of your life various events cause cracks in the mosaic, and from time to time large pieces will come undone and crash to the floor, splintering into fragments. Soldiering on through this is equivalent to grabbing a tiling trowl and putting the mosaic back together, usually in quite a different configuration.

The hard part this metaphor highlights is that you must often give up one pleasant configuration in exchange for another, since they both require the same pieces, just in different positions. You can't have it both ways. Which is how it always is: the good times you remember probably can't be regained. But if you could, would you, because you'd probably have to give up other good things.

An easy example is wishing someone important who's passed on was still around, without acknowledging that if they were still around your life would probably not have progressed as it has. You can't have it all, so accept what you've got and make the best of it.

03:59 (EST), August 17, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

What a surreal evening. House party somewhere in Elsternwick with Parks and Nadine. Whole lot of people I didn't know (and to be honest still don't). A few connections here and there and I'm sure I'll see all, or at least most, of them again before too long.

Random thoughts on the walk over there. My grandparents house in Joburg was fantastic. It was one of those houses that families grow up in. Down the side of the house was an odd sort of grove. It had this tree that grew dark green leaves during Summer, really thick leaves, the kind that snap audibly. Towards the end of Summer it would flower. Thick, exquisite, pale purple flowers. Weighty flowers. But the principle reason I remember this tree was the legacy it left behind in Autumn. Seed pods would fall to the floor. On their own they were unremarkable; pale brown things hardly worth a second glance. But inside were bright red seeds. Finding them was like finding your first Easter egg.

I passed one of these bushes in full flower on the way over to Park's place.

13:51 (EST), August 16, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Feeling a bit disjoint from the world at the moment. There's this whole other life I've left behind (or thought I had) but which in reality is just on hold, waiting for me to come back and write the next chapter. And there's this world here I'm trying to become a part of but with which, for various reasosn I won't go into, not least of which is the fact that I'm not settling here permanently, I can't really engage.

So I'm at a bit of a loose end.

Not to say that I'm not enjoying myself here. Just feel a little like I'm in limbo. But then that's been the case since I made the decision to go, why should it change now?

10:19 (EST), August 13, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

The rest of the world could learn a lesson or two from the Ozzies. For all the ragging we do at their expense, they are by far and away the friendliest, most polite group of people I have ever met. Show me a country where people thank the tram driver from the back of the tram before getting off. And they really seem to mean it to.

13:56 (EST), August 9, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Two words: Chapel Street. Oh my word.

4:45 (EST), August 9, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

I'm a nerd. Or whatever the current temporal equivalent is. How do I know? Well, for one, how do you explain the pure elation finding an obscure bug in our implementation of asynchronous sockets for Java? And how do you explain that I have the same code open at the moment, having just got back from a tour of the local clubs?

Yeah, I thought so.

12:23 (EST), August 8, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

It occurred to me last night on the way home that the people I seem to spend the most time thinking about receive the least amount of mail from me (or communication in general). This isn't always the case but holds generally. I suspect this is because in their case the relationship that exists is far more durable and doesn't need the constant attention new relationships require (insert cheesy sapling analogy here).

15:56 (EST), August 7, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

QOTD.

"Maybe I'm being a bit cynical, but these "special" people who have made such an "impression" on our lives so that we will "always remember" them, are really just the universe's way of exposing a glaring flaw in the evolution of the human psyche."

-- Anonymous (well, no, not really, but I ain't saying who)

08:38 (EST), August 7, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Body clock seems to be back to normal. Got sucked into some code last night and had to forcefully detach my fingers from the keyboard at about 2am.

Woke up humming something that I later identified as being the product of one Mariah Carey. In my defence as soon as I achieved securelevel 1 I executed a kill -9 on the offending process. God forbid I'm a closet R&B fan.

09:51 (EST), August 5, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

First tram excursion last night. Would be fine if I hadn't chosen rush hour or the trams didn't run down the middle of the street. The idea's good but there's no chance of it ever working in South Africa. I just can't see the average South African motorist resisting the urge to nip round the side. There's certainly no way they'd wait for some pavement-dweller. It's their road dammit, get out of the way!

Oh, and you know you're in a first world country when:

1. You can't find Chutney.
2. You purchase ten items and the cash receipt is 10km long (I'm sure there's a proportional relationship here).
3. You have the choice of having your dishes smell like Mandarin or Lavendar.

16:57 (EST), August 4, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Some pics from down under (very few at the moment; the battery was only very slightly charged when I bought the camera and Sunday found me in no mood to do the tourist thing :-)). I'll be adding to the collection when I find things I consider interesting enough to warrant the bandwidth ... these are not likely to be things that interest the average person. Oh, and I'm playing with various gallery generators so the format may change a few times before I'm happy.

15:13 (EST), August 3, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Can't figure out if my clock's out of sync or not. Can't seem to sleep when I 'should' but as soon as I give up and decide to do something I practically pass out from exhaustion. But then these symptoms, stated like that, are hardly exceptional in my case. Tossed and turned until about 8:30 and then woke up suddenly at 12:30.

Watching some Sunday footie :-) mostly to try and pick up on the odd local phrases that come up every now and then. Hopefully it will save me a few unnecessary pardon's. Caught the end of an advert for a CSI episode which, if I watch it, will mean I've seen the same CSI episode three times, on three different continents, over the last two years. Bizarre, especially given that I think I've seen less than ten episodes in total. It's not even a particularly good one. Actually, call me an intellectual snob, but ever since they got the units of measure for acceleration due to the force of gravity wrong I've been unable to watch the show with anything but contempt.

05:07 (EST), August 3, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Mission accomplished: contact with the locals has been made. All in all a good evening (attested to by the time). And let me pay appropriate dues at this point to the marvels of a 24 hours McDonalds and the 4am breakfast McMuffin.

This particular pursuit may not be good for my liver but it has to be good for my legs. A 30 minute walk each way and 7 hours of continuous dancing is a pretty strenuous workout.

So much for health nuts: everybody here smokes. . Bah.

15:15 (EST), August 2, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Random posting: I'm tired of trying to impress the unimpressible; tired of trying to make myself the obvious decision to the indecisive. Barring residual emotional crap I give up.

Random memory: If I could fall in love. You said a lot a week ago when we met up that I appreciate. You also said a lot that probably means trouble for me.

Random amusement: There's a batman drive here :-)

12:53 (EST), August 2, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Hmmm. Seems this part of the world only gets going about two hours after James. But that will probably change, since James was up far earlier than he normally is :-)

Spent an awful lot of money today, but then the plan all along was to get a digital camera when I got here. Okay, okay, so I should have Poor Impulse Control tattooed across my forehead. Bite me. I'm now the proud owner of a Cannon Ixus 400 4 megapixel digital camera. Lots of goodies, including short video capture functionality (with sound) and a photo stitching option which will stitch multiple shots together for wide landscape shots.

But enough about my new toy. Further impressions of Melbourne: a lot of people here run in the morning. Nutters. All of them. Walking is healthier and far more pleasant. McDonalds seems popular. Encountered at least four in an area that must be about an eighth of the size of Cape Town's CBD. Plenty of other name-brand fast food joints, KFC, Burger King, Nando's, and then something that I can't now remember the name of but is pretty much the local equivalent to Steers.

Cancer seems to be a big issue here. There's a campaign running along the lines of 1 in 3 Australians will suffer from cancer, the other two will know someone who does. August 22nd is daffodil day. I think I'll buy one for my mother.

11:56 (EST), August 2, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

First day out in Melbourne (from which you may deduce that I survived the flight). Killing the 14 minutes left on my time slot at this Internet Cafe (reviewing digital cameras; may buy). Will post more substantially from the office on Monday, but first impressions are a more modern version of Cape Town (as expected). Still buying on Rands so prices are a little high, but not as bad as the UK. Toying with the idea of a bike :-)

What I've seen of the city is very nice. Wide open spaces, quite a range of architecture. Fairly active night-life (plans to explore this evening) and a lot of fairly big parks. Chilly at the moment, about the same as a cold Cape Town Winter, although last night was pretty damn cold.

The television I've seen so far suggests I will spend a lot of time outdoors or reading ;-) and I don't think I've ever seen such a large number of matchmaker/singles dating websites advertised in a 30 minute period.

00:35 (EST), August 2, 2003, Melbourne, Australia

Okay, so I'm still a little out of whack. After all, it's just gone midnight here, I spent a large portion of today sleeping, and my body still thinks its early evening. But then my body's probably been confused about the current time for close on 15 years, so what's new?

I'm staying in an apartment in South Yarra for a month. After that I'll probably move in to Pieter's place. Haven't seen very much of Melbourne yet, although the skyline's pretty distinctive (complete with a building that appears to have a pair of devil's horns; appropriate?). Not too far from central Melbourne. Took a walk in a few hours ago, to see what the surrounds hold. Not really sure how far I walked, but it measured at least two McDonald's (the universal sign for 'clean public toilets' and now a universal measure for distance). On setting out my initial reaction was 'quiet for a Friday night' but as soon as I neared central Melbourne that impression was dispelled. From what I could see there's a huge range of things to do, from concerts to shows to cinemas to bars and nightclubs. Quite a range of ages out too. Melbourne's very different to London. In fact it does seem very similar to Cape Town (confirming what a number of people have said to me already). Although coming in from the airport it reminded me much more of Jo'burg.

As luck would have it I'm alone for the weekend, Shaun's off and Pieter's away for the weekend. So I'm going to play self-sufficient tour-guide. I'm very keen to get into local life asap, none of this tourist nonsense. Plenty of time for that. So the current plan is to try one or two of the night-clubs I scouted out this evening tomorrow night. Tomorrow day I have some admin to take care of.

14:05 (GMT), July 30, 2003, Chertsey, London

Ever noticed the phenomenon where someone changes (almost physically) as you get to know them? It's interesting to stop at times and thinking back to how you perceived them when you first met them, and to compare that to the person you know now. Sometimes they even seem to go through multiple changes, and its as though you met three people over the course of knowing them.

Then stop and consider how people's perception of you has altered over time.

11:24 (GMT), July 29, 2003, Chertsey, London

Great evening drinking, eating, and being merrier than Andrew's sleeping flatmate probably appreciated, given the hour we went on until.

Of course it did leave me to crawl into the office at 9 this morning having had 3 hours of sleep and after making my way from central London out into the stix ...

Fortunately, we're planning a quiet night tonight ... oh, hang on, nope ... that would be someone else ... darn.

14:17 (GMT), July 28, 2003, Chertsey, London

A fun morning spent in London queueing so some underpaid power-mad trolley-pusher can paste a little piece of paper into a little book I own that says "unless you really feel like it don't throw this guy out of your country."

Drove out to Amesbury last night to meet my father and brother. Haven't seen either of them since 1990. Perhaps I'm dysfunctional. Maybe I'm suppressing things and they'll all surface in a decade or two in the form of a penchant for wearing ladies evening wear in stage performances of "I will survive". All of the rage, all of the anger that people expect to be there isn't. While I think it was important to re-establish some sort of connection there, it wasn't the earth shattering experience the people around me anticipated.

13:09 (GMT), July 26, 2003, Chertsey, London

Had dinner last night in Brighton. I have to admit, it was with much trepidation that I drove out. But it was the right thing to do, even if neither of us feels we're ready to see one another again. But life plays by its own rules. It was really good to see you again, really good. But some things never change. I think I'm always going to be your gentleman caller. But it really was good to see you.

Dinner was good, but in these kinds of situations things like dinner are inevitably secondary. Eating becomes merely a functional exercise. We played pool again but something was missing. We talked about old times. We talked about how outrageous we were back then. It's the way things should be, utter disregard for the world around you (although preferably not to the point of arrest). We talked about the good and the bad. In another place, in another time (I'd be driving trucks my dear...).

If nothing else it cleared the air, which is more valuable than I have words to explain. It means we can move on from here and pick up some of the pieces, although not all, not yet. Some of them are still sharp. Some of them are still blood-stained. But time weathers sharp edges, and storms wipe the blood away.

But the lines are open again, and that's important. The only way you can fit into this world without being suffocated is to dig into a space, and make it your own. And the only way to avoid that space turning into a claustrophic hole is to stand shoulder to shoulder with your friends and turn your little spaces into one big communal dance hall.

15:18 (GMT), July 25, 2003, Chertsey, London

Advanced tickets have been booked, so Saturday night at The Fridge are a go. There'll be 18 of us there. It's going to be massive. Booyakasha.

09:38 (GMT), July 25, 2003, Chertsey, London

Project Plaaskuns was a complete success. And generated a whole slew of new campfire stories :-)

Like diving (over-enthusiastically) out of view of an oncoming car. This in itself would have been fine were it not for the unexpected two metre drop on the side of the road which, incidentally was overgrown with nettles and some member of the hook-thorn family. There was a moment where I honestly thought I was going to have to lie there until some local yokel found and rescued me (before handing me over to the local authorities).

Or getting back to the hotel at 2am only to discover that using Andrew's door key as a saw had bent it out of shape, leaving him trapped outside. Enterprising as he is, he managed to straighten it. Unfortunately, using my key, which left me locked out (for the same reason). Brute force and, I suspect, sheer desperation, prevailed in the end.

But the important thing to focus on is that we were victorious. Long live plaas kuns!

09:45 (GMT), July 24, 2003, Chertsey, London

Drinks at On Anon in Shaftesbury last night. Expected to meet a crowd from Honours, instead met a mix of people predominantly people from my matric year. Very unexpected but absolutely fantastic to see everyone emerge from the foggy memories.

But, perhaps shots of vodka and tequila mid-week are probably not such a good idea. Certainly not before a 45 minute train journey and 15 minute walk back to your hotel...

But it was really, really good to see everyone again.

12:18 (GMT), July 21, 2003, Chertsey, London

Hmmm. Well, what can I say? What a Monday. Hell, it seems like everyone's week started out one way and within 6 hours was completely unrecognisable. So my visa has come through. Faster than I'd expected, which two weeks ago would have been terrific. That's not to say that I'm not just a little bit pleased with it now, but I have to admit it, I'm having a great time here. Yeah, the work is not amazing, and there isn't a day where something doesn't come out of the CT office that makes me reconsider the decision I've made, but I'm starting to enjoy the disconnection a little bit. A lot of the pressures of daily life disappear when you're 'on the road'. I'm sure they'll reassert themselves pretty quickly in Oz, and perhaps that's why I'm a little nervous about the next step. I suppose too that there must be an element of fear of the unknown. The people here, the clients, the work, even the country, is hardly unfamiliar at this point. Oz on the other hand, is a total unknown.

So I'm a tad undecided. On the one hand I'd like a couple of weeks still, but on the other hand I'm super-keen to get onto the next phase (part of that is because I started this whole thing looking forward to arriving back home. No, I don't expect you to understand that, if you do then good for you).

Yeah, I think the next few months are going to be interesting. There's some learning to be done there. And a lot of preparation for whatever comes next (just as soon as I figure that out). A lot of people don't expect me to go back (oddly enough, that's the first time the distinction between 'coming back' and 'going back' has occurred to me). I can't think of anything that would make me not go back, but then if I could think of it then it would be a reason to go in the first place. It would have to be a pull factor. There isn't a serious enough push factor in CT to keep me away. There's only one pull factor I can think of that would be strong enough. Yes, I'm going to keep you guessing. If you know me well enough then I don't think I need to tell you what it is.

If I could choose one wish I suspect it would be hard to resist the tempation to have as many lives to live as I wanted. Choice is the hardest thing about life (perhaps that's where the appeal in predestination is?). And I don't think it's fear of the things you might be opening yourself up to, but rather fear of the things you might be excluding yourself from. Certainly, for me, the chance that I may miss out on someone, or something, or somewhere, is a reason in itself to make sure your reasons are acceptable to you (they need only be acceptable to you, if they're unacceptable to someone else and that bothers you then you need to consider whether they really are acceptable to you).

This has turned into rather more of an essay than I'd planned. Enough (he cried). Enough. Before I ... oh ... too late. Damn.

The downside to the UK is that it is almost as full as Cape Town of little reminders, familiar places, all the little things a nostalgic bastard like myself thrives on. And that's exactly the kind of thing I don't want or need at this point.

Anyone remember Elite? Now that's a world I can work with. Infinitely large but a finite (and small) set of rules to work with. Give me a couple of beam lasers, a fast Cobra Mk II and a military hyperdrive and the revolving door won't even scrape the back of my heel as I exit the building. (And in the blue and white flash of an engaged hyperdrive he disappeared, out of range of even the most advanced hyperdrive analyzers).

09:56 (GMT), July 21, 2003, Chertsey, London

Oh, and my visa has been approved. May be outta here sooner than expected.

09:53 (GMT), July 21, 2003, Chertsey, London

Terrific weekend. Andrew (one of the guys out here with me at the moment) has a whole whack of friends who are living and working in London so we organised to meet them on Friday. But at the last minute a client crisis meant Andrew had to bail. There was no way I was staying home Friday evening so I went through to meet a complete bunch of strangers at a bar called Oxygen in Leicester Square. Didn't get to try the pure oxygen, something for next time :-) That ran on until about 2am (what is it with the UK?). Caught a night bus through to Viv's place (one of the strangers) with my Gaelic namesake Hamish (another one of the strangers). Spent a very chilled morning talking utter nonsense until we realised that the reason we were squinting was because the sun had been up for a few hours already. Passed out. Time passes ...

Went from there to Walkabout to watch our rugby team fail to perform. Despite that it was pretty incredible. Now I understand how easy it must be to control the masses. The camaraderie was bizarrely infectious. Shouted general abuse at the nearest New Zealanders and talked shite with a zimbo who nicknamed me Mugabe after I started to encroach on his standing space. Of course, thanks to our team's performance we had to crawl out of there with our tails between our legs. Time passes ...

Back to Viv's place to prep for the sheet party (some people seem to know this as a toga party). Needless to say, a sheet party is exactly what it sounds like: drafty. Consumed alcohol, played coinage, consumed alcohol, talked shit, consumed alcohol. At some point in the early hours of the morning there was a food run which I missed. At some point later on utter collapse occurred. Bodies strewn everywhere, most of them complete strangers. Most of them saffers. So this is how South Africans in London live. Marvelous.

Sunday morning we crawled back to Wimbledon station and caught a train back out to our little dorp Shepperton. Spent the afternoon driving around looking at all the standard tourist crap having grabbed something to eat (for the first time since Friday; abuse your body, show it who's boss).

People and things to take away from this:

• Crazy Heather (grandma) & Paul (goose)
• Viv (slapper) & Hamish
• Euro's
• A room breathing
• Irrit & the french chick :-)
• Anita (see you in Oz!?)
• Irrit denying instigating coinage

10:34 (GMT), July 18, 2003, Chertsey, London

Gah, very little sleep last night. Sudden urge at 2am to write some documentation (I know, I know, I'm losing it). And then tossed and turned for a few hours. Bizarre dream involving me overtaking _you_ on a road that seemed to be a cross between De Waal Drive and Ou Kaapse Weg; with the notable oddity that I was driving like a lunatic, on foot. And then you were upset with me because I'd followed you home?

Am I stalker material?

18:19 (GMT), July 16, 2003, Chertsey, London

Oh, the crop circle we came across on Sunday finally showed up on the website of the guys who were there photographing it.

17:17 (GMT), July 16, 2003, Chertsey, London

As promised, the long awaited (hah) photos from the past weekend are up. Well, mostly up. 55Mb at 4Kb/s. Figure it out :-) there's a bright lad (no offence to our female readers, it's assumed that they're brighter than us blokes). Yes, some of them are bizarre shots, but I'm an habitual hoarder so I pretty much never filter out the crap from the not-so-crap. Besides, the crap is just as much a record of what happened as the not-so-crap.

Blimey, I'm starting to sound like an English gaffer. That's just pants.

What other news? Well, let's see. On three important communication fronts activity has either ceased or never materialized to start with. Fortunately distance makes it much easier (not quite out of sight out of mind, but definitely close). What can you do?

The last thing left to sort out 'back home' is selling my car. Bit of a mental block there, I think largely because after that I will truly be going back to nothing. Having to start all over again has its merits but that doesn't make it any less daunting. Hey at least I have a job, right? :-)

10:46 (GMT), July 16, 2003, Chertsey, London

Hmmm. Some good news. I may be out of here relatively soon. Apparently the visa application is progressing at a good rate (just how does one determine that?).

17:55 (GMT), July 15, 2003, Chertsey, London

Okay, so getting a car didn't do much for the frequency of updates to this page :-)

Drove out to the South West coast of England this weekend. Stayed in a tiny town called Seaton. But tiny though it was it sported its very own Nite Club: "The Grove". Have to admit I was very impressed. They certainly managed a large enough, loud enough crowd. Pity they had to close at 2. Things were just getting started (to paraphrase a very disappointed French guy at the door). Will post photos shortly (just waiting for them to upload).

Have been invited to a sheet party this weekend. Use your imagination and then place your bets. Er, and no press allowed ;-)

18:31 (GMT), July 10, 2003, Chertsey, London

Amazing what difference not having any transport means. Combined with the lack of any net access (not even nearby my place) this page has all but dried up. I'm supposed to pick a car up tomorrow, and perhaps see some of the country this weekend. Maybe Wales ...

And the work keeps coming. Was paid an incredible compliment yesterday by someone who's opinion I rate extremely highly, so that pretty much made my evening.

Roll on Oz. Have to admit though, I'm finding it difficult to break away from the SA office and our work there. I can't expect a complete divorce, and I'm not even really sure I want it. But when I do get sucked back into it briefly I can see the need for it. If I don't manage some sort of disconnection then I will go crazy next year. Long interesting discussion yesterday about the merits of working in an environment where you're learning from the majority of people around you versus one where you are the mentor/guru/know-all (you can guess the compliment from that statement alone; the truth of it is something you'll need to gauge for yourself).

That's about it. Moved into my longer term residence yesterday: possibly the smallest room I've ever stayed in (but this is the UK, so I didn't expect much more). Out in the buzzing megalopolis of Shepperton. Pretty upmarket area actually, at least judging by the prices of nosh and liquid refreshment. Pretty buzzing in the evenings too surprisingly. But if you're not well off, loud, and British then buzz off ... not the friendliest crowd.

But then I'd be a bit sore too, if little aggressive Italians had stomped all over my backyard. Even if it was 2,000 years ago :-)

18:24 (GMT), July 8, 2003, Chertsey, London

Haven't had much chance to put anything here. Things are fairly busy here. Hope to get out to see some friends this weekend and maybe do a bit of touring (if we can arrange a car for less than the price of a 747). Jury's still out as far as when I'll get to Oz.

13:02 (SAST), July 6, 2003, Cape Town

She's like the wind.

16:30 (SAST), July 5, 2003, Cape Town

Personal Rule #2: When it's not taking, stop and repack the fire.

05:57 (SAST), July 5, 2003, Cape Town

Tired I am.

02:27 (SAST), July 5, 2003, Cape Town

Sometimes a need to dance is a need to dance alone.

22:55 (SAST), July 4, 2003, Cape Town

Demo for Gary.

19:20 (SAST), July 3, 2003, Cape Town

How often can a man state truthfully that his entire life is in a bag and a few boxes?

00:48 (SAST), July 3, 2003, Ou Kaapse Weg, Cape Town