functional · ramblings

Cambridge have offered me a place to do an MPhil in East Asian Studies from September.*

Feeling pretty damn good right now. :D

(*Conditional, mind, on my getting a 2:1 (Hons) at SOAS. Of course, as I have already done my exams, I can do no more to progress towards this goal. So I just have to hope and pray that I didn't suck too much this year.)

I'm just sitting in the SOAS Bar at the moment participating in some kind of super cool major interactive like magic heavy speed weblogging event. It's like fucking heavy, dude. We're all here, with our fucking PowerBooks and our fucking iBooks, fucking webloggin' up to the fuckin' max, man. It's like the main man, man. Fuckin' heavy, like I'm fuckin' sayin'.

Seriously though, this kind of live weblogging stuff is so cool. I'm totally plugged in to all this kind of Web 2.0 AJAX Ruby on Rails platform-oriented dynamism. I mean, I'm totally up for a chai latte any time somewhere in Angel, Islington, dude. It's fuckin' heavy, man.

Yeah, anyway.

Feel the ISP-finished love.

:D

(In response to this...)

I've never understood why it's thought that keeping the gifted and disadvantaged in the same classroom is a good idea anyway. One of the most braindead policies of Old Labour, which has alas been carried through into Tony Blair's New Labour, is that of the abolition of grammar schools (free, selective schools which take the gifted out and give them the opportunity to succeed). Instead they believe that all should attend what we call comprehensive schools, which accept all children in a given area and set them according to ability.

The problem, however, is that placed in the same geographical location, the gifted - who are generally inevitably to bear the brunt of the disadvantaged's anger and frustration - are deterred from their studies and then fail to perform as well as they might if they were in a grammar. The comprehensive is in so many ways a manifestation of that ideal society of which the Left dreams, where everyone lives in harmony.

The reality - that comprehensives mirror the conflict of the community that surrounds them - is much different, and I consider it irresponsible to threaten the futures of so many by clinging to mistaken ideals. The only point one might make in favour of mixing the gifted and disadvantaged, then, is that to do so would create a "character-building" experience for the gifted of which we speak.

Do the gifted need to undergo "character-building" experiences at that age? Perhaps. But I do wonder whether bullying and victimisation are the best ways to go about it.

Last time I took a leave of absence from writing this thing, Steve was kind enough to bemoan my silence, and so I felt pressed to write again. That was over a year ago now, and so much has happened - I am on my second PowerBook, for starters - but I am disappointed to note that nobody has missed me enough to warrant, say, asking where I am. I am aware that this is because no-one actually reads this (and am further aware that writing such has the effect of driving any that do away, as they feel sad/guilty for perusing the memoirs of a loser).

I suppose work has rather got in the way. It's noticeable that I was posting quite a bit back in April, which was roughly the time when I should have been being studying for exams - or possibly in that void just afterwards - the one between finishing exams for the year and getting a job. In retrospect, that void probably lasted longer than I would have liked - it was not until some time in late June that I actually got a job - firstly at Russell-Cooke solicitors in Putney and then, at least partly thanks to Marimo, at the Japan Green Medical Centre, glorious for various reasons, but chiefly for the purposes of CV enhancement (one has to be mindful of such things these days). Gastronomically profitable too, as alluded to here.

And I've now been working in that same law firm's Bedford Row office for, ooh, a good month and a half now, which has been an excellent experience and also, I must add, a pleasant one. The atmosphere is very relaxed, and I feel rather like I have "made it". Bedford Row is the home of various barristers' chambers and oldskool law firms and it is most delightfully English - a wide avenue (yes, it has trees) with old brick buildings and red phone boxes. Something like heaven for me.

I think this is where I'm headed. I think the Bar awaits. I have expressed this idea to a few now, which has met with some surprise, as it makes no use of the Japanese I have spent ten years learning. But I am now wondering what I want out of my knowledge of the Japanese language. If I want to go down the law route and use Japanese, I have to become a solicitor specialising in commercial law, which pays well but has no soul.

If he reads this, Shu-chan may well switch off at this point. I am sure that on more than one occasion I have extolled to him the necessity of soul in a career, and that the idea of working on weekends and coming in on Christmas Day for nothing more than money is not something that particularly motivates me, but I don't think he really gets me. Each to their own, I suppose, but where is the greater good in Ibramovich or Bill Gates making another million quid?

I suppose perhaps as a family lawyer you can really help to make a difference to individuals' lives, but a barrister can have his hand in forging a precedent that lasts down the ages. I suppose, ultimately, that might be my way of achieving immortality.

It's all about the bigger picture.

It is things like this that remind me that not all Americans are beyond hope. The whole intelligent design thing is very hard for us in Europe to get our heads round, as "Genesis-is-the-irrefutable-word-of-God" does not a good counter-argument make. I remember learning about the State of Tennessee vs. John Scopes - we laughed about how backward attitudes were then, but that was 80 years ago. We've made progress since then, haven't we?

Well, Europe has. Some in the USA have too, as the linked page suggests. But the majority - or a more powerful minority - over the Pond seem hell-bent on going back the other way. They'll be burning African Americans at the stake again before you know it...

Props to Boing Boing for the link.

It's hard to complain really. Not only have had two front page Slashdot submissions (Open Source Replacing Books in Kenyan Schools and iTMS Launches in Japan, the article linked to in the latter also being one of mine) accepted, but I have been quoted in the Guardian and found my travelcard photo on page 2 of flickr's 'interestingness' ranking for 7th July. Oh, and I've been wined and dined twice on the company too.

Not bad for a week, really.

I went down to King's Cross this morning, camera under my arm, to see what was going on. More bouquets since last night, and - I think - more members of the press. There was a Japanese newscaster there, as well as a team from Poland. And many more, of course, but I don't know where they were from.

Many of them were milling around the fenced off area where the bouquets are being left, desperate to get a good shot of someone leaving a bouquet or such. Others reported in the environs.

I hung around for a little while, and after realising that the station was in fact open, I decided to head inside. No photographs allowed inside, I was told, and with fearful reverence, I complied.

The photo with this post was taken, despite what the EXIF information says, at 11:30am, just outside the entrance and just before I went in. Ordinarily at this time, King's Cross should be thronging with people, but today there was almost no-one.

I bought a ticket and went out to the Eastbound platform. There were perhaps ten people waiting. It was 11:35. The displays just said "Eastbound trains via Liverpool Street". Unlikely, I thought, given that trains were terminating at Moorgate.

I walked up and down the platform, pacing, recording on my mobile phone the sound of the deathly quiet, constantly interrupted by security announcements and reports of service alterations. I waited.

A few more people came. I continued pacing. An old gentleman in a suit was trying to get to Elephant & Castle, and solicited the assistance of a very kindly member of the Tube staff, who spent not a small amount of time explaining to him the route he should take. The train was at Finchley Road and would arrive within 15 minutes.

I paced. We waited. In almost total silence. Of the maybe 15 people waiting, perhaps there were two couples, but no-one really talked. All there was was a drilling noise and the constant interruption of the tannoy, detailing service alterations and asking customers to be vigilant.

And then, 4 minutes before the train was due to arrive, the dot matrix displays finally listed the train. It finally arrived at about 12:10. I have never ever waited that long for a Tube train before.

We got on, I checked the area around the seats for anything suspicious and sat down. The train trundled out at normal pace, out into daylight, back into another tunnel, daylight, tunnel. Anyone who knows the route will know what I mean.

At Farringdon, someone got off, a couple got on. And all the while I was unnerved, because the woman sitting in the seat diagonally opposite me was getting very irritated for some reason, fiddling with her phone and cursing.

My attention was also drawn to a man who was standing up down the other end of the carriage. He seemed agitated too. I thought about what I had read on the BBC News site about how one man on the No. 30 bus that was bombed thought he saw a very agitated man acting strangely on it. Paranoid thoughts, perhaps. But I couldn't dismiss them.

The train carried on. Next stop, Barbican. Uneventful. The woman calmed down. She had managed to call in and explain that she was going to be late.

The train rolled slowly on towards Moorgate. We stopped briefly outside. Why? Why? Arriving at the station, we were reminded to please take all our belongings with us.

It was evident from the number of people disgorged from the train that there had been quite a lot of people on it. But still no-one spoke. We just made our way away from the platforms towards the Northern Line or the exit in silence.

The silence, of course, is pretty normal. But it seems all the stranger now. Paranoia does those kind of things to you. Silly things.

But give Londoners a few more days and I'm sure we'll be back to normal.

It's all starting to make more sense now. I've just read the news on the BBC that the Tube bombings were almost simultaneous, which explains why King's Cross was just being closed at about 08:50 in the morning, i.e. just after I had bought my ticket. It made no sense that they would be closing the station 6 minutes before the bomb in the Piccadilly Line tunnel went off (or even 1-2 minutes before that at Liverpool Street/Aldgate).

What amazes me is that this wasn't already known.

Even today, two days after, the news is still conflicting. I was sure I'd seen somewhere that the Piccadilly Line train was travelling northbound from Russell Square, but if I understand correctly from this article on BBC News, that could in fact have been my train.

:s

The confusion has now subsided. We know what went on. More or less, anyway. There are certain specifics, like precisely who was responsible for the attacks, although examination of CCTV recordings will doubtless yield clues in due course. I now know that the Piccadilly Line train that exploded was in fact going in the other direction - from Russell Square to Kings Cross. Having seen mobile phone video footage and photography on the BBC - both the web site and the telly - I am incredibly thankful that I was not on that train. Or one of the others afflicted. Or the bus - the photos of it are quite horrifying.

At the time, the most frustrating thing was the lack of information. A lot of eyewitnesses have expressed their disappointment at being stuck in Tube trains which had been hit or such and just not knowing what on earth was going on. I can understand that there is a need to avoid panic, and that as such, there was generated the fiction that it was caused by electrical power surges. I find it hard to believe that this could have been anything more than something designed to prevent undue panic, as it quickly became clear (with the destruction of the bus) that this was not a problem we could blame on the National Grid.

But standing at Euston Square station at 9:05, I knew nothing. I presumed that there had perhaps simply been a power failure or, at worst, a suspicious package at Kings Cross. Trains would thus just carry on straight through. I, like other commuters, was frustrated when the expected arrival of the next train changed from 2 minutes to "delayed", and the announcement over the tannoy illustrated that most Underground staff were as much in the dark as we were. Of course, mere minutes after that, just a little way down the line at Edgware Road, another bomb went off. Even when I got to Oxford Circus at 9:20, or thereabouts, all any of us knew was that no Tube lines were running. I think most of us just thought that London transport really sucks.

I in fact knew nothing until I got to work, which was when I first heard the story about the power surges. Old Street was suggested to have been affected. No-one really knew anything. I pulled up BBC News, but it took a while before the truth emerged.

The thing is, such an attack could happen tomorrow and we would still be powerless to stop it. The people who perpetrate these attacks have no compassion - as Ken Livingstone said, they have no respect for race, gender or religion. They probably wouldn't think twice about attempting an attack on the Tube network tomorrow. It's not actually implausible.

But we should keep the attacks in perspective. Fatalities have, thankfully, been relatively low, and although there have been many casualties, most of them have not suffered too seriously. London can and will recover from this, and it would be nice to think that our response will be as restrained as possible. Bullies get tired of attacking those who don't react.

I came as close today as I ever want to come to a terrorist attack. New job starts tomorrow. I hope it's a little less stressful than the events of today.

(I wish to thank all of you who have asked after me today. I shall be seeking an explanation from those that haven't! :P)

I bought this ticket at Kings Cross just before all the chaos began. Just as I was about to go down into the station proper, I heard sirens, and saw the 'Emergency: Do Not Enter' signs on. I supposed that there had been a power failure or, at worst, a suspcious package and hurried to the next station, Euston Square.

Little did I know what was in the process of unfolding.

More here.

I write from work, and am thankful that the events that have unfolded this morning have not had any long-lasting effect on me. I was at Kings Cross, buying my ticket, when the bombs went off at 08:49. My ticket is stamped with that very time. Just as I was about to go into the station entrance, the emergency signs came on.

I am slightly unnerved, because I could have been on the train that was targeted between Kings Cross and Russell Square. At least 21 people on that train have lost their lives. I've been taking the Picadilly Line from Kings Cross at around that time for the past couple of weeks to get to work. I'm thankful I spent that little extra time on my hair this morning. You know, silly little details that one obsesses over after things like this.

I immediately thought that it was just a cock-up, a blip at Kings Cross, and headed for Euston Square. It started to rain, and I thought that it was not without irony that we had been so high-spirited yesterday, after the news about the Olympics. Our brilliant Tube network would ferry the thousands of spectators to the various events in the East End. This "blip", I thought, was just a reminder of how bad the Tube can actually get.

I walked to Oxford Circus and went down to the Victoria Line platforms. There was no indication of when the trains were going to go anywhere, so I came back up, and as I did, a PA announcement declared that no trains were running and that they didn't know when any would be.

Buggger. Typical.

I resolved to press on and walked south-west, heading in the Green Park direction. I caught the old 38 outside the Ritz and as we passed Green Park station I saw that the gates were closed and staff were directing passengers elsewhere. People on the bus were talking about how they're weren't any Tube trains running, but no-one knew any more than that.

A lot of us got off around Victoria, and I made my way to the Tube station. Staff there were directing people onto buses depending on their destinations, and I asked if they knew when the network would reopen. They didn't know. I had planned to go to Harrods for lunch today, and wanted to know if I could take the Tube to get there.

Outside Victoria there were masses of people, all wondering why the Underground station gates were closed. I just wanted to go to Clapham Junction and then on, southwards, to Putney, so got into the station and got on the first train I could find. As I waited for it to leave, I heard calls for British Transport Police staff to attend at platforms 4 and 5, if I remember correctly. I don't know if that was related.

On the train to Clapham Junction, one man said that he had heard that there had been explosions on the Tube, but he didn't know more than that. It was not until I got to work - 45 minutes late - that I found out that power surges had been blamed for the trouble on the Tube. News of terrorist involvement emerged later.

Marimo rang, my mother rang, Ed texted me, I rang my sister, who was supposed to have a job interview in London today. She was fine, safely away in Raynes Park.

And I'm thankful. The full details will doubtless emerge in the next few days. But I keep thinking - it could have been me.

Just playing with flickr and such, trying to work out how to get hard links to photos.

Took this yesterday at Kings Cross St Pancras station whilst waiting for the Tube.

Inspired by reading this, I thought it would improper of me not to include a link to the butthead vendor in my blog.

For those confused, see here.

I'm outside the Apple Shop in Regent Stret, London, with a bunch of equally sad, lifeless like-minded individuals, who are eagerly awaiting the fourth release of Apple's critically acclaimed operating system, Mac OS X 10.4 "Tiger". I'm fourth in the queue. The lucky goods better not be just for the first three.

I have here at my side a dedicated, Third World representative of two countries' (Trinidad & Tobago and Barbados) Macintosh fanatics, who I would like to say has travelled all the way from one of those countries but is in fact working in this wonderful country. She's buying a laptop today.

We've been informed that it's "worth queuing up for" and the security people are jovially nattering to the bloke at the head of the queue. PowerBooks and iBooks are out to pass the time and make good use of Apple's free WiFi in the interim.

It's 17:03. The shop has closed and a lot of photos are being taken. I'm posing accordingly.

Anyway, I want to save battery, so I'll post again inside, maybe once Tiger is installed.

The Mac has always done a pretty good job of dealing with different languages, ever since the advent of WorldScript in System 7.1, way back in 1992, which, to look at it now, was groundbreaking, especially when you consider that in the PC world, it wasn’t really well done until Windows 2000. And Mac OS X’s multilingual functionality is unparallelled - great Unicode, beautiful fonts, fluid input methods, all the intefaces languages included in every copy of the operating system (unlike Windows, where Microsoft makes you pay a fortune for language packs), and supremely simple localisation, making extending your software to a wider audience a breeze. For developers and users alike, it’s a great platform for the world that doesn’t speak English.

The rest is here.

I just woke up, and normally I wouldn't be moved to blog at this kind of time, but...

I had a dream about Ben. I don't normally remember dreams, and the details elude me, but I appeared to be in a tower-like hotel, although I don't even precisely remember that. But then Ben turned up and, well, he kissed me. There seemed to be an understanding that he was sorry for lost time, but that could have been wishful thinking on my part...

I don't really know what to do with this, which I suppose is one of the reasons for blogging it. I really should be over him by now, thought I was over him, hoped I was over him...probably didn't hope I was over him, wonder what on Earth I am to do with that...

It's weird, because I don't think I ever really used to dream about him. I've certainly no recollection of ever kissing him in a dream before.

"Where are you now?
I'm trying to get by with never knowing at all.
What is the chance of finding you out there,
Or do I have to wait forever...?"

I had been waiting for the inevitable moment when Microsoft apologist and brown-noser extraordinare Paul Thurrott would come out with a diatribe on Tiger, and credit goes to Slashdot’s front page for bringing it to my attention. Thurrott has done this for each release since 10.1 and each time his reviews have been “frustrating”. I suppose that if we were being charitable, we would at least call him consistent.

The post continues here.