... which is a bit like Extreme Ironing though I always feel that it should be Extreme Irony. Maybe they do courses - we could send Alanis Morisette on one though I am sure she would still just not get it.
For various reasons I am looking at code which is 20 years old at the moment. I'm not sure I could actually compile any of it but I might be able to support it if required. I'm trying to think if any of my code from 20 years ago is still being used. There maybe some routines in use but not in their original form. An Algorithm perhaps but not an actual executable. Now there is plenty of my stuff from 10 years ago still in place. I know this because I got contacted about the password for some VBA code only a few weeks ago.
I don't seem to write as much here as I used to. I was going to say with the depth I used to but that would be claiming more profundity than is obvious in past posts. I'm not really reading anything with great depth either - just collections of weird statistics that are easy to take in and easy to put down. I do have Bill Bryson's Shakespeare in the pile to start. I've almost bought this so many times thinking it would never be free at the library and then last week there it was on the shelves. I do have the Christmas books to look forward to as well, along with other things of high import. News in the New Year or maybe before.
I've put on Drumming again, hoping that it might spark some deep thoughts but I expect it will just mean I sit here for half an hour staring into the beautiful winter skies and thinking of Wassailing (whatever that is) and stuff. I associate various pieces of music with various places and times and usually I can see that this is simply because of the first time I heard the piece but with the early part of the second track of Drumming all I can see is the street outside the first house I can remember, during a particularly bad winter in the late sixties when the snow was banked up higher than I was. The dancing ideas in my head have revealed why this is. I first listened to the music while reading Bitter Fame so the association is actually with the bad winter of 1963 and Sylvia Plath's suicide but this links with my own, few memories of the same decade. Sadly I do not have this down as a sad memory because I like the muffled stillness of the snowy day with no one else about and all distant sound brought to nothing. None of this matches what must have been the reality of February 1963. It's not actually snowed here but it feels like it should. The run down to Christmas gives everything a strange slowed atmosphere anyway, which matches the wordless singing and beautiful marimba of the music very nicely.
I thought I'd use the word 'nicely' just to be awkward. I am trying to follow Orwell's rules for writing but as you are probably used to seeing almost all of my phrases in other writing, I am failing badly. Drumming will drive you mad by the way. Don't ever listen to it. Somewhere in here there is some code for something but I don't know what it is so I can't give you any clues.
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