I know, I know. The site looks shite. Rest assured that it won’t do, shortly, and that I have lots of lovely things to say about Bratislava, Russian spies and Silent Ducks.
For now, here’s a picture.
Monthly Archive for November, 2007
Behold my ability to schedule a blog post for while I’m away in Bratislava, truly I am a god among men.
Anyway, I’m in Bratislava at the moment, having a wonderful time no doubt, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to shirk what I view as a responsibility to observe the two minute silence in memory of the dead. I say this every year, I’m sure, but it really is such a small gesture to take two minutes out of your life to consider the senseless waste and monumental sacrifice of war. I’m not just talking about the Allies either, I’m talking about everyone because, ultimately they were people the same as me and you. It’s easy to paint the Germans and Japanese as the ‘bad guys’ because - well, because some of them were utter bastards who committed unspeakable crimes, but then war tends to do away with innocence pretty quickly. My grandfather was a good man as far as I was concerned, that isn’t to say he didn’t do things during the war that he wasn’t proud of.
So, irrespective nationality, though excluding a small portion of genocidal maniacs and those genuinely undeserving of pity or remembrance, I would ask you, whatever your belief or background, to join me in taking a few minutes out of your life to consider the plight of those men and women, no different to you or I, who lost everything for the sake of their ideals.
One of the most heart wrenching things I’ve ever seen was a German Veteran crying at the graveside of his brother and two friends, things like that rather make you appreciate how much was lost by both sides. If you don’t have the time to reflect on all that was lost, frankly you’re not worth the air you breathe.
I’ve always been of the opinion that meetings are there only to make life more miserable and that reports merely serve to generate statistics and bar charts for dossiers that are never read and that change nothing.
I am yet to be proven wrong.
Three hours of my life that I won’t get back, I could have been asleep.
A while ago, Duncan drew my attention to a type of person that had previously gone unnoticed by my hateful gaze. How they have managed to elude me for all these years is a complete mystery because, now that I’m aware of them, I see that they’re everywhere, irritating the buggery out of me.
Who are these people? They are those individuals for whom the moments in a conversation where you are speaking are simply a pause, a moment to enable them to decide what to say next. They’re not actually listening to you, they’re just waiting for the slightest pause so that they may jump in and continue on on whatever senseless tangent they’re possessed by. Your thoughts, ideas, points and counterpoints make absolutely no impact upon them because they don’t hear them, what they are saying is important, incisive and witty. It must be heard without deviation.
To whit.
X “James, I’ve noticed that Y is not Z’ing.”
James “Yeah, that’s because of A not picking up B correctly and…”
X “And when Y doesn’t Z I have to spend five minutes doing E and F, which takes a long time as opposed to Z’ing Y.”
James “I know, it’s because A isn’t picking up B correctly. All you need to do is click here and run this and it’ll stop doing it.”
X “The amount of time I’ve wasted doing E and F instead of Z’ing Y because it doesn’t work. Is there any way you could just stop it from happening?”
James “Uh. Yes, if you just…”
X “Because I don’t see why I should have to waste my time when you could just fix it.”
James “Yes. If you just…”
X “It can’t take that long to sort out surely, I’d have thought it’d be a five minute job.”
James “It would be if you’d fucking shut up and listen.”
At this point the office went rather quiet.
Whoops.
I’m a relatively open-minded individual, despite my demeanour, and am prone to indulging in activities ‘just because’. In my opinion, this is the only sensible way to be. I mean, how you can possibly know you don’t like something until you give it a try is beyond me.*
So it is, when I have time, that I am a member of the online community over at TarValon.net. I’ve mentioned this a few times before, they’re the folk that Duncan refers to as Wizards and with whom I have spent a fair few hours getting blotto in various parts of the world. They are, by and large, lovely people and not the axe wielding murderous cultists that you might expect. I mean, obviously there are one or two who make you wonder, but I’m yet to meet any of their ilk in the flesh. And yes, some of the Scandinavians are a bit bitey and maybe one or two of the Germans will try and push you out of windows, but they do it in a nice way, without malice.
It is best not to ask about certain American gun owners whose only reason for possessing firearms is in case the zombies rise again and he needs to protect himself.
However, these are people whom I see in person perhaps once or twice a year, with whom I’m nearly always polite and courteous (unless we’re debating in Current Events, where bickering is the norm) and now they’re here. Reading this blog.
And suddenly I feel a little self-conscious. I realise this is silly because – well, it’s a blog and a link to it features as part of my sig on a few forums. But I’d never actually expected anyone to read it, certainly not more than once or twice anyway, it’s full of rambling shite. I don’t even read it. Now it turns out that people beyond my immediate circle of friends read this (Hi Lucy, Darren et al)?
Blimey.
So, uh, hi guys! I’m sure I can explain everything… :look
* Except bum-sex. It’s the exception that proves the rule as far as I’m concerned.
Bonfire night has been and gone and for me, it was everything that Halloween wasn’t. I won’t quibble, great efforts have been made to commercialise Bonfire Night, obviously we all need to buy fireworks and sparklers, and some events even have tawdry advertising at the end where large billboards of flares and fountains spell out some corporate message that means fuck all. In reality though, it’s really quite difficult to brand fire and stick an acceptable face on a chap who would be considered, in today’s parlance, a terrorist.
Somewhat of a word de jour that, ‘terrorist’.
Anyway, in stark contrast to giving chocolate to people because they’ve managed to knock at the door and happen to be wearing a pointy hat, we spent Saturday night stood in a field around a huge pile of burning wood with a pot of mushy peas and a beer. There were fireworks which were oo’ed and aaah’ed accordingly, but mainly there was a sense of – community is to strong a word – something. Togetherness perhaps.
It was social and informal and fun, one of those times where no one can be bothered with hassle and fuss because everyone’s just in it for the pretty colours and the warmth of the fire. I used to get the same feeling at dance clubs before they started letting wankers in and the whole scene became marred by fights and twats in caps. Ahh the past, was there ever a time it didn’t seem better than it actually was?
No, probably not. So, Istropolis, eh? Pressburg, Wilson City – by the way, what a bloody stupid name to even try giving the place, honestly, the Americans sometimes make me wonder – Preslava, Pozsony and so on. I’m off there on Friday for a long weekend of moderate drinking, excessive photography and respectable castle visiting.
Or, to put it another way, I’m going to Bratislava, courtesy of Duncan and his money, because I helped with the DIY on his house along with Ian and Stephen and this is our payment. Awesome. I can’t speak for ‘the lads’ but I intend to see and do everything. All the time. Twice.
I’m also angling after a daytrip to Wein as well but that’s rather dependant upon my ability to persuade the others to pause in their drinking for a moment and get on a train. Shouldn’t be too hard to do.
There will be castles.
I’m also two years behind the times. All the same, this made me titter like a naughty schoolboy.
Pfft. Pork steeple.
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