The 4th of March was my Birthday. I'd decided not to
do anything about it,
apart from maybe taking the day off of work. Hey, I've got a load of
untaken holidays left over this year, I can't see any good reason to
be in work
I get up late and take a shower. I then head across the road and have breakfast in the French cafe across the road. Their scrambled eggs and salmon are good people - I highly recommend you try them there. Sitting there and drinking tea, and reading news.bbc.co.uk and watching the world go by.
Yes, the wireless network that I have in my house extends as far as the cafe across the street. Isn't the Internet wonderful?
So I sit there eating my breakfast and drinking my tea, and suddenly the woman next to me starts up a conversation with me. "Are you a programmer, or just checking your email?" she asks. I reply affirmative to the former and a conversation ensues. We chat about many things from the state of the employment market (she's looking for someone to do html, I get her details for a friend) to the difference between running blue yonder and bt openworld
This of course gets me thinking about davorg's journal. Draw what conclusions you will from that.
I then head into work. The great thing is since I've taken the day off no-one is telling me to do any actual work. I'm here for my 1U server that has been sitting under my desk for the last couple of months. I package it back up in the box it came from and head down to mailbox to place it in co-lo. Yey! New Box! Okay, so it's only running ssh at the moment, but big plans are afoot. Honest.
So I take my box to Fulham. I get lost once. I look at the fish tanks. I get shown my new box in place, two ra cks down from my old big blue box that now runs london.rhizomatic.net I resist the urge to hit reset on the box for fun.
On the way back from mailbox in Fulham, the tube train stops in West Brompton. This used to be my local stop, when I lived with a load of friends there at Ongar towers. Just round the corner from there works one of my oldest friends. On a whim I decide to get off the train and visit him.
My friend works for, for want of a better phrase, what could be described as a dot com. When I arrive he tells me that they are all waiting for the 100,000th registration for their latest software. One of the guys in the office has set up a screensaver that displays the registrations live, coupled with random photos from their digital photo archive. We sit. We drink beer. We watch the screensaver and play with the Lego Mindstorms. The 100,000th customer registers. We go to my old local and drink champagne.
Earlier this day I have emailed my friends that live locally to me expressing my desire to go to the cinema. Unbenowst to me at this time, my housemates, my ex-housemates, their housemates, my colleagues, my ex-colleagues, people I have lived in halls, and various hangers on are have also been invited by my flat-mates to meet me in the pub. <great-sarcasm>>Surprise parties. Bastards bastards bastard. I hate them all, especially muttley and mlr that organised this.</great-sarcasm>
I arrive at the pub late. Ooops. I am sorry. I do not cry with joy (This takes effort, but booze is bought for me.) Presents are given. These include: several dvds, bath salts, a pony hand puppet (I wanna pony! pony! PONY!) and duck slippers. I guess the ducks need explaining (the pony should make sense to any #london.pm/#perl denizen.) I have a collection of rubber ducks. The rules are I'm not allowed to buy any for myself. People buy them for me. I blame agi, acme, long haired mike, alex, acme again, alex again, jenny, and virgin.
Eleven of us go to the cinema and watch ocean's eleven. We do not (despite my insistence) rob any casinos after the film has ended.
I come home and drink white russians. Despite the fact that I have not coded a line of perl, it has been agood day.