*groan*

From my sister:

"It's a well known fact that computing devices such as the abacus were
invented thousands of years ago. But it's not well known that the first
use of a common computer protocol occured in the Old Testament. This, of
course, was when Moses aborted the Egyptians' process with a
control-sea..."
(Tom Galloway)

Of mice and men

More oh-so-subtle dispatches from subconscious to conscious mind, via the Department of Dreams. ( ... )

Woke up feeling hungover and tearful.

The million dollar question

From bopeepsheep's journal.

You have just won a million dollars (or pounds, if you prefer).
( What do you do? )

I hate money. I wish I didn't have to deal with it at all, I wish I could live in a society where it didn't exist, where people just did things for each other and exchanged things and didn't have to believe in money at all. I know it's not feasible but I still can't help wishing it; I don't like the sort of boundaries that money creates. The thought of winning a million pounds just like that makes me feel really ill ... I really hope it never happens.

Colour me embarrassed

Note to self for avoidance of future embarrassment: do not describe colleagues as "blonde and curvy" to friends before checking that friends will not report back to colleagues.

Hello, claerwen. :-)

Footprints in the snow

bopeepsheep has been posting a lot of poetry, and has prompted me to go and re-read a few favourites on a similarly snowy theme. I thought I'd share them, on the offchance that somebody hasn't read them before.

One of the first poems I remember studying at school was Ted Hughes' "The Thought Fox". This poem seemed an appropriate place to start, dramatising as it does its own creation through the living metaphor of the fox making its tracks in the snow:

( The Thought Fox )

From Hughes' "forest" with its "darkness" and "loneliness" it was only a short walk to "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost (even wintry by name). This poem has always seemed to me to be allied with "Desert Places", by the same author.

( Two poems by Robert Frost )

It seems strange to find a brighter side to Frost's "blanker whiteness of benighted snow" in a poem by the notoriously pessimistic Philip Larkin. However, Larkin's "First Sight" takes a few faltering first steps in the direction of hope:

( First Sight )