Complicity.

One of the things that matters to me about Complicity, of course, is that I was living in Edinburgh at the time it was written and set, and I saw a lot of the places as they were at the time. I drank in the Kas Bar, but now it's gone (and I never saw any trouble there until after it had been "cleaned up", although it certainly always had a very harsh reputation). I saw the sculpture of coloured marbles on the top of the Tron public gents', before it was all taken away because people kept stealing the marbles. Even the toilet under it has changed beyond recognition. The shop, in a prime and doubtless very expensive city-centre location, that only sells brushes and balls of string, is still there though. Absolutely unaltered.

The Scotsman offices (used in the film), obviously the inspiration for "The Caledonian", are no longer the home of The Scotsman, which has moved down to Holyrood, I believe. That building's a hotel now.

I did at one point start to think that there was a Curse Of Complicity, similar to the Curse Of Bladerunner. I must reread it and work out the proportions.

Breaking news . . .

Apparently the government is finally going to introduce a minimum wage for under-18s. Only 3 quid an hour, but better than a poke in the eye with a wet herring. Of course, I ask myself why it took so long, but it's not like anyone else would have done it at all.

According to El Reg, Worldcom have reworked their accounts and, reassuringly, were only out by [pinkie in mouth] 74 beellion dollars.

That's more than I make in a whole week. Jail those fuckers now.

So if it is classed as a planet . . .

. . . then what are the implications for astrology? After all, Pluto was fairly quickly assigned a significance partly based on the mythological nature of Pluto, thus demanding the question be asked "What if it had been named "Goofy" instead?

How many Es in "Schadenfreude"?

Annoyingly, I thought I had a copy of Engine City somewhere, but I don't. I don't suppose anyone fancies swapping one for my spare copy of Dark Light? Nope, didn't think so.

Earlier on I was out at the shop, and on the way back I noticed there was a pickup parked outside the flat. Not just any old pickup, mind - this was a very seriously overblown piece of kit. Apparently brand new, big black and glossy, far too big to be in a town and far too shiny to have been bought to do real work. And as if that wasn't bad enough, it was a left-hand drive Dodge(y), and therefore probably a British-registered US import. This was a very bad example of what Ximena called a penis-wagon. It was such a ridiculously phallic vehicle that I can honestly say that the last time I saw one like it it belonged to a dyke [1].

As you may have guessed by now, i didn't quite fall in love with it. In fact, my first thought as I saw a traffic warden turning the corner was to check whether it had a parking ticket displayed.

And guess what?

Well, obviously as soon as I got inside I threw the blinds open and watched and waited. And waited. And looked around for the traffic warden, who had disappeared. (Call that justice?)

After a couple of minutes the warden reappeared, though, and ticketed it nicely. He walked off and within a minute the owner got back. How I laughed (but not openly, of course, because he could see me. I pretended to be folding up a piece of paper).

It didn't quite make up for the tickets I got there, but . . . well, almost.


[1] True story. Lovely woman she was, too, but her truck was ridiculous.

Science and engineering.

Anti-DHMO campaign gathers pace. Official recognition of the hazard can now only be a matter of time (thanks to king_prawn for that one).

Secondly, does anyone know anything about fixing microwaves?
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