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And it's a couple of inches of fresh snow.
There have been snow showers, on and off, all afternoon, sometimes combined with a fresh breeze off the North Sea. From my desk I could watch people dogging work to have snowball fights and build a snowman. Mails kept coming round about crashes and snowdrifts closing nearby roads. People started worrying about whether they'd get home, and whether they'd make itback in in the morning. Eventually it was time for the bus, and when wed all piled in, the driver announced that he'd be taking it very carefully, which was no exaggeration. It took nearly an hour to get back to town, when it normally takes less than half that. To be fair, mostly this was the traffic. A decent speed was possible until the edge of town, at which point we realised that within city limits the roads were backed up solid, with cars crawling along at well under walking speed. Two or three accidents and the whole south side of town could have been gridlocked, which would have been entertaining. Some of us hopped the bus a bit early and walked onwards.
I'd almost forgotten the sound and feel of walking in really fresh snow. The gentle groan as it compacts underfoot in a series of tiny collapses, and the trembling feel of the series of tiny collapses through the sole of my shoes - I don't think there's a word for either of these, although there certainly should be. The wind had stuck the snow to everything. All the plants and signs were coated, and before I got home, so was I.
The house is empty apart from me. I have to finish getting el mondo grosso PC case working with the new board - it boots, but I need to transfer the hard drive and set up X for the "new" video card.
I remember the first time anyone mentioned X to me. It was Rick Innis, at Derek and Fi MacColl's then place in Morningside, and he was rattling off slogans circulated at (I think) a then recent SigGraph : "The X Windowing System - Power Tools for Power Losers" and "The X Windowing System: Even Your Dog Will Hate It". It hasn't done badly since then, all things considered. I happened across Rick Innins recently. He seems to be back in Canada now, and he left a comment on a website (the BBC's, possibly) on the death of Joe Strummer. It's a wide wide world, even if it is sometimes on the incesturous side of well-connected. There are various people I should chase up, I guess. Kaija, for a start. Some old school friends - my brother gives me their email addresses and phone numbers sometimes, and I promise to contact them (and I will do . . . I promise). He gave me Sarah Clegg's today. I should get Gordon Barr's off him, too. I lent him my copies of Mask and the Book Of The New Sun at the end of 1986, and I haven't seen him since. I've replaced them, but it'd be good to catch up. And the MacColls, of course,and Keith. Especially Keith. And Alistair. But now that I think about it, mainly Keith.
There have been snow showers, on and off, all afternoon, sometimes combined with a fresh breeze off the North Sea. From my desk I could watch people dogging work to have snowball fights and build a snowman. Mails kept coming round about crashes and snowdrifts closing nearby roads. People started worrying about whether they'd get home, and whether they'd make itback in in the morning. Eventually it was time for the bus, and when wed all piled in, the driver announced that he'd be taking it very carefully, which was no exaggeration. It took nearly an hour to get back to town, when it normally takes less than half that. To be fair, mostly this was the traffic. A decent speed was possible until the edge of town, at which point we realised that within city limits the roads were backed up solid, with cars crawling along at well under walking speed. Two or three accidents and the whole south side of town could have been gridlocked, which would have been entertaining. Some of us hopped the bus a bit early and walked onwards.
I'd almost forgotten the sound and feel of walking in really fresh snow. The gentle groan as it compacts underfoot in a series of tiny collapses, and the trembling feel of the series of tiny collapses through the sole of my shoes - I don't think there's a word for either of these, although there certainly should be. The wind had stuck the snow to everything. All the plants and signs were coated, and before I got home, so was I.
The house is empty apart from me. I have to finish getting el mondo grosso PC case working with the new board - it boots, but I need to transfer the hard drive and set up X for the "new" video card.
I remember the first time anyone mentioned X to me. It was Rick Innis, at Derek and Fi MacColl's then place in Morningside, and he was rattling off slogans circulated at (I think) a then recent SigGraph : "The X Windowing System - Power Tools for Power Losers" and "The X Windowing System: Even Your Dog Will Hate It". It hasn't done badly since then, all things considered. I happened across Rick Innins recently. He seems to be back in Canada now, and he left a comment on a website (the BBC's, possibly) on the death of Joe Strummer. It's a wide wide world, even if it is sometimes on the incesturous side of well-connected. There are various people I should chase up, I guess. Kaija, for a start. Some old school friends - my brother gives me their email addresses and phone numbers sometimes, and I promise to contact them (and I will do . . . I promise). He gave me Sarah Clegg's today. I should get Gordon Barr's off him, too. I lent him my copies of Mask and the Book Of The New Sun at the end of 1986, and I haven't seen him since. I've replaced them, but it'd be good to catch up. And the MacColls, of course,and Keith. Especially Keith. And Alistair. But now that I think about it, mainly Keith.
