Category: old blogging

watch out for Linfords.

tonight: lecture in Findon (Worthing) which went well – nice crowd. Then back home and on to W2 for beer with Nick and Anne (good to see them again) and also Paul F, Arron, Brenda and Greg. Then home. Nice. More beer tomorrow planned.

for the person who keeps using the Atomz search thing to hunt for lemurs, here are some lemur pics. Cute!

books that might be of interest to somebody (but goodness knows who), recently published by Timber Press:
– Myxomycetes: A Handbook of Slime Molds – ideal for identifying that thing growing behind the sink in the bathroom;
– Plantae Wilsoniae: An Enumeration of the Woody Plants Collected in Western China for the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University During The Years 1907, 1908 and 1910 by E H Wilson – essentially a list of plants, in three volumes. yawn.
– Moss Gardening, including Lichens and Liverworts – more shades of green than you could shake a stick at.
– The Woody Iridaceae: Nivenia, Klattia and Witsenia – essentially funny looking Irises on sticks – ok, I’ll admit it, I’d love this book!
– Practical Protein Electrophoresis for Genetic Research – say what?

It’s Friday afternoon, so it must be time for some breasts. Actually, I often feel like it is time for breasts even when it is not Friday afternoon, but that’s just my nature. (Link nicked from the shockingly broad-minded Robyn who got it from the even-more-broad-minded Marcia).

Snoopy gets abusive.
Was Woodstock the first cartoon character to use binary communication? “111111111111111!”

All quiet on the blogging front as the London bloggers get together for an explosive evening of beer and frivolity – a record turnout, my spies tell me.
The Chichester blogging massive has elected for a quiet night in and possibly getting to bed before midnight (shock!) in order to get sleep instead of contemplating his navel (and life) at 1.30am.
And, aside from that, I really have nothing else to say this evening. Other than the fact that I’ve (again) updated my Amazon wishlist – don’t forget: May 12th.

I’m about to head homewards to then go on to college. My tiredness is reaching unprecedented levels. I plan to have a short catnap (ten minutes tops) on the sofa before jogging down the road to class. Any bets on how late I’ll be for class?

problems encountered so far today:
– people trying to send faxes whilst the fax machine is away being repaired;
– my PC needing to be rebooted four times so far;
– Blogger faffing around;
– dysfunction of the laser printer just as I have a massive print job to do.
I guess the day can only improve.

Luke ponders ANZAC Day. I was in the Cubs too, and didn’t progress beyond them. In fact, I got chucked out for being too old in the end. I joined with my mate Glynne Stentiford (where is he now?) following a talk to our primary school by our local Akela, Mrs Cleall. Our pack held the record for the biggest number of brothers in the same pack at the same time – we even got on telly for it. Well, I say “we” – I didn’t, because my brother, being nearly ten years older than me, wasn’t in the Cubs.
Anyway, the point of this posting was to say that I did the parade thing too. I’m not sure if we ever did Remembrance Day (I’m sure we did), but I remember being the standard bearer for a St George’s Day service where the Cubs were represented by me and a handful of others (three I think – I can’t remember their names now, it is so long ago). I’m not sure if either of my parents were there – I’m sure one of them at least must have been – but as far as I am aware there is no photographic record of the event.
Our family isn’t very good at taking pictures of people. Pictures of plants – fine. Pictures of cats – no problem. But people? …hardly ever. Which in a way is a shame. There are some things that you want to have pictures of – there is, somewhere, a transparency of my very first girlfriend, Jill, in some obscure professional photo format that my brother took. That’s the sort of thing I mean – the sort of thing that your future wife could show your future children and say “my god – look at the sort of girl your father went out with before me!”
Worse still are pictures of me as a child. These are, mercifully, rare, so my parents haven’t had too much ammunition for embarrassing me in front of newly-acquired girlfriends. Rest assured that, if ever I manage to persuade some poor woman to be the mother of my child[ren], there will be plenty of photos to use as ammunition to make sure they (the child[ren]) don’t stay out too late, go out with that dodgy geezer/girl from number 43 or wreck the motor in their teenage years.