Well, I'm definitely a student again.
With an essay due tomorrow, I have sayed up nearly all night to get it finished. I'm not sure it's the best essay ever, but at 5 am I fnd it hard to care.
Well, I suppose I'll get 3 hours of sleep. I'm almost tempted to go to sleep in my clothes to save time getting dressed in the morning.
But only almost...
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
In the bleak mid-winter
I am looking forward to the day that cryostasis becomes reality. I will get them to stick me in the deep freeze round about mid-october and take me out again in mid- to late-march. I will even co-ordinate my departure and arrival so it gets dark at roughly the same time so I won't feel disorientated, like I do when the clocks go back.
I suppose the alternative would be to spend six months of the year in Australia. That would be a little less pleasingly sci-fi though.
I suppose the alternative would be to spend six months of the year in Australia. That would be a little less pleasingly sci-fi though.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
If I die...
$4225.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth.
Over £2000 - though it wouldn't even pay off my student loans...
Sunday, November 04, 2007
What's wrong with this picture?
I've just got back from an extremely fun weekend of being ridiculed by my Greenbelt support steward friends. I'm quite tired, due to staying up too late and drinking a lot (but not falling over or being sick this time).
I drove down. It's the first time I've driven such a long way - we were near Chepstow, on South Wales.
Let's look at the stats:
Distance home: 168 miles.
Time taken to get home: about 4 hours
Incidents of swearing at drivers: twice, in my head.
Distance there: 180 miles
Time taken to get there: nearly 5.5 hours
Incidents of swearing at drivers: numerous, at high volume
Let's see if there's any reason for this discrepancy:
On the way down, I gave a friend a lift. Let's call him... Handbag... to protect his identity. So we set off. I have excellent directions provided by the friend we're staying with. I give the directions to Handbag. We're driving down the M6 and it's reasonably busy. Handbag suggests the M6 Toll road to avoid congestions. I ask if we can still get on our route. Handbag assures me that we can. We drive down the M6 Toll and look for signs onto the M5, our next road. Turns out this is via the M42. I think this is a bit odd. Oh well.
Handbag rings the friend we're staying with to tell her where we're up to. She expresses some surprise that we're on the M42. She then rings Guilty* who is also driving up. He's some way along the M5, which is jam-packed, and knows the M42, which is also jam-packed. He wets himself laughing.
If you look at the larger map andcan see our journey, you might see where we went wrong...
View Larger Map
Obviously, I blame Handbag.
Not that the journey back was over an hour qicker, despite everything above Cheltenham being wreathed in fog (I learnt where my fog lights are). Moral of the story? Don't believe people when they tell you they can map-read.
*Yes, all my friends really do have weird names.
I drove down. It's the first time I've driven such a long way - we were near Chepstow, on South Wales.
Let's look at the stats:
Distance home: 168 miles.
Time taken to get home: about 4 hours
Incidents of swearing at drivers: twice, in my head.
Distance there: 180 miles
Time taken to get there: nearly 5.5 hours
Incidents of swearing at drivers: numerous, at high volume
Let's see if there's any reason for this discrepancy:
On the way down, I gave a friend a lift. Let's call him... Handbag... to protect his identity. So we set off. I have excellent directions provided by the friend we're staying with. I give the directions to Handbag. We're driving down the M6 and it's reasonably busy. Handbag suggests the M6 Toll road to avoid congestions. I ask if we can still get on our route. Handbag assures me that we can. We drive down the M6 Toll and look for signs onto the M5, our next road. Turns out this is via the M42. I think this is a bit odd. Oh well.
Handbag rings the friend we're staying with to tell her where we're up to. She expresses some surprise that we're on the M42. She then rings Guilty* who is also driving up. He's some way along the M5, which is jam-packed, and knows the M42, which is also jam-packed. He wets himself laughing.
If you look at the larger map andcan see our journey, you might see where we went wrong...
View Larger Map
Obviously, I blame Handbag.
Not that the journey back was over an hour qicker, despite everything above Cheltenham being wreathed in fog (I learnt where my fog lights are). Moral of the story? Don't believe people when they tell you they can map-read.
*Yes, all my friends really do have weird names.
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