...because I don't like seeing things done in drastically sub-optimal ways. Sure, I can't be bothered to do things perfectly but if there's a big time-saving step I need to have gone at least that far.
The Story of Wynn, now renamed as Shadows of Fairytales is over. For the moment. The renaming is in part because I realised that the book I was writing was only going to be the first act (probably the first half) of something larger, and also because when I first started it didn't deserve more than a working title: somewhere around 100,000 words it hit me that it was worth thinking harder about.
Yesterday I got my first platinum medal in Wii Play. Having spent ages with gold medals all around, I'm really chuffed to have a platinum one.
Oh, and I got offered a job. A brilliant job, of the kind that I'd never thought I'd had the opportunity to do. I asked a difficult question about the contract and the guy will get back to me next week; I'll tell you more about the job when I've accepted it.
But it was mainly about the platinum medal, oh yeah!
Oh, and I got offered a job. A brilliant job, of the kind that I'd never thought I'd had the opportunity to do. I asked a difficult question about the contract and the guy will get back to me next week; I'll tell you more about the job when I've accepted it.
But it was mainly about the platinum medal, oh yeah!
It's the middle of the night and I'm writing, sitting under my laptop on the sofa, headphones playing some mp3s and the TV on mute in the background.
There's an episode of 'Upstairs Downstairs' on. In their living room they have a painting on the wall. Well, several, but one of them looks familiar. Really familiar, but I don't know what it is. It's a portrait of a dark-haired woman in a white dress, probably early- to mid-19th century (although I am very far from an expert in such things); she sits smiling gently at the artist with her body facing to his left.
It's going to bug me now.
There's an episode of 'Upstairs Downstairs' on. In their living room they have a painting on the wall. Well, several, but one of them looks familiar. Really familiar, but I don't know what it is. It's a portrait of a dark-haired woman in a white dress, probably early- to mid-19th century (although I am very far from an expert in such things); she sits smiling gently at the artist with her body facing to his left.
It's going to bug me now.
Tomorrow I have two interviews. I don't want either job. I want the one I was trying out for today (and yesterday) but they won't know if they're hiring me for up to two weeks.
Been quite a couple of weeks here. Employer gets bought out, job goes elsewhere. Recruitment agents sound excited at the moment, but in my experience they always do at first and will start ignoring me as soon as it looks like it might take a little work to help me find a job.
I've been asked a number of times lately how long it takes for e-mail to arrive. My answer is this:
There is a pad of paper and a pencil stuck to the fridge. My Better Half put them there when she moved in. When she decides we're low on things she writes them on the pad; I suspect I'm supposed to do the same.
Really I do. Despite masses of configuration it's essentially a black box that does its work through dark sorcery, and crucially its work isn't what you want or expect. I'm not a stranger to mail servers - Postfix does what you tell it - but having to support even as few users as I have on Exchange is really doing my head in.
I finally got around to doing the Bartle Test. I don't much like the questions (a lot of them didn't have a clear answer) but apparently I am diagnosed as
EASK: Achiever 60.00%, Explorer 80.00%, Killer 6.67%, Socializer 53.33%Which sounds about right, to be honest.
