Are internet cafes illegal in China?
If so, how shall I keep in touch with Pete when I’m over there for two weeks of training? And blog – how shall I blog? And share my photographs? Huh?
Last week my optician informed me confidently that there had been many advances in contact lens technology since my last traumatic experiment with taking my glasses off, about fifteen years ago.
Yesterday he stuck a plastic lens on each of my eyeballs and sent me out into the street to cling on to Pete’s arm and blink a lot. I spent a lot of time staring up at the security mirror in a hardware store, thinking, so that’s what I look like without my glasses.
Then I went back for my lesson in taking them out and putting them in again. The right lens came out at the second attempt.
My lesson was supervised, not by the dishy Irish optician, but by a lady in the scary-nurse style, who obviously knew I was going to give her trouble. After explaining the technique to me once, she spent most of the rest of the time sighing, while I struggled to put my fingers in my eye and remove a lens which remained mysteriously invisible, despite feeling like it was roughly the size of a dustbin lid.
Every so often, scary nurse pointed out that I wasn’t pulling my lower eyelid down far enough. I would fail to move the lens again. She would sigh again. She mentioned that we only had an hour, and that I needed to take them out and put them in again twice more before I would be allowed to take the trial pack of lenses home.
The left lens didn’t emerge until Pete was called upon to coach me. I managed to put them back in with no difficulty, but my eyes were so bloody sore, and my fingers so shaky, that dishy Irish optician took them out and sent me home, with another appointment to go through the fun and games again in three weeks’ time.
If I really want the lenses, apparently, I’ll find a way.
The chillis were born on Sunday 20th March 2005, when some seeds nestled snugly into a bed of soil, and were placed delicately into a mockodile. I mean, a propagator.
Friday, 6am: Briefly gain consciousness during what is technically still the night. Remember that I don’t have to get to work until 9.30, and somehow manage to reset the alarm before going back to sleep.
Friday, 8am: Alarm goes off. Pete and I very reluctantly crawl out of bed, shower, dress, breakfast mostly still with eyes half closed. Hate mornings. Want to stay in bed.
Saturday, 7.30am: Postman rings doorbell. Roll out of bed with more speed than accuracy and dash down two flights of stairs to find that he has already given up, but kindly left parcel on doorstep again. Rescue parcel, assume it is new boots won on ebay, go back to bed. Pete v. warm.
Saturday, 7.45am: Pete gets out of bed announcing that he needs to do some programming, as he has just had an idea for Senile Pig* and there’s no point trying to go back to sleep. Follow him downstairs and make a cup of tea. Open parcel and try on boots. Pleased that they fit.
Saturday, 8am: log into computer. Bright, alert, cheerful. Why don’t I feel like this on weekdays?
*The MP3 playlist generator, now with new icon designed by Meafmania.
I have swapped the printers over, so my computer now has the clunky old HP Laserjet 4L, and Karen’s has the shiny Lexmark X5250 scanner/printer combo.
With the result that I can now print from both Windows XP and Ubuntu.
This gives me one less reason to stick with Microsoft. Hurrah!
Yeah, I know. It’s Friday night. I should really be doing something much more exciting. Well, to be honest, I’m not sure that there IS anything more exciting than the prospect of a computer that does what I want it to, rather than what Microsoft wants it to.
I’ve noticed a trend for online address books, such as those offered by Plaxo or Bebo. I consider these things to be the devil.
For example, take Bebo’s Privacy Policy page, and scroll down to the section entitled “Acquisition”…
It is possible that as we continue to develop our website and our business, Bebo’s service and/or related assets might be acquired. Notwithstanding any provision in this policy to the contrary, in event of a merger or acquisition, your personal information may be transferred to the acquiring entity, and become subject to the acquirer’s data practices.
Do you know what this means? No? Well, I do, and I shall tell you. It means:
“If we go out of business, we will probably be bought by a spammer, who is only interested in our magnificent database of email addresses.”
Devil, I tell you.
In the light of today being St Patrick’s Day, we at Uborka Towers have very specially, for today only, as a very very special one-off treat, gone all green coloured.
Behold.
T’be sure.