Small world

One strange thing (among many) last night was discovering that Lori actually hails from a place less than 20 miles from where I grew up. Strange, but true.

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems odd that people can meet up in a city 200 miles from their home towns, and have originated from the same area, yet neither one knew it. I’ve done it so many times now that I suppose I shouldn’t find it surprising any more, but I still do.

However, it’s my parents who (so far) have the prize for “small-world”isms. While visiting my brother in Finland, they also took a couple of days in Stockholm. Having walked around for a while, they sat on a bench, and were heard to be speaking English by a guy from – as it turned out – Nepal. He knew someone in England, and wondered what region they were from. When told “Oxfordshire“, he asked if they knew Thame – which is where they live. The man who was known by the Nepalese guy was my father’s doctor.

It’s times like that when you realise that the Gods occasionally just have a day off, kicking back and having a laugh.

4am revisited

Following on from yesterday’s post, no, I don’t know what it is that wakes me at 4am, other than the body clock going “time to be awake!”. It’s not the only time I wake up during the night, but it’s the only one that’s consistent.

It’s hard to explain – 4am is when my brain feels it’s right to wake up – it’s not a sudden waking on hearing a noise, it’s a full waking process. (yes, I’m being careful with my typing there…) In general I’m lucky to get an indisturbed hour of sleep anyway – the joys of being on an insomnia cycle of disturbed sleep, as opposed to not going to sleep, or waking up early – but the 4am thing is just weird because it’s not part of the “normal” (oh, how I laugh to describe it as such) part of my sleep pattern. Oh, and yes, it is a pain in the arse.

Neal Stephenson, Waterstone’s Deansgate, Manchester

I’ve been a reader of Neal Stephenson’s books since ’94, when “Snow Crash” was released on an unsuspecting audience, hooked on a novel involving hacking, a close future, neurolinguistics and – um – Ancient Sumerian legends. Just my kind of book, really. After that, “Diamond Age” covered manners, 23rd century Victoriana, mediatronic paper, communications and a cracking story. There’ve been forays off into the fixing of Presidential Elections (“Interface“, and Iraqi bioweapons being produced in Iowa (“Cobweb“), and then the last biggie ’til now, “Cryptonomicon, concerning cyphers and codes, Alan Turing, the Enigma Machine, data havens, and 21st century business practices.

Now, three years later, Stephenson’s released “Quicksilver“, the first of his “Baroque cycle” trilogy, all prequels to Cryptonomicon. Well, dynastically linked to Cryptonomicon, if not actual prequels. As part of the “promotion” of this, he was in Manchester last night doing a reading and signing. (Guess what I’ll be reading this weekend? *Grin*)

Readings are a difficult thing to write about really – they’re pretty much how they sound. It’s interesting to get the author’s voice, the intonation to their words, and while some are good readers, others are abysmal. (William Gibson is one who’s awful at doing readings) Neal Stephenson’s somewhere in the middle – he seemed uncomfortable in the suit he’d chosen to wear, and was quite fidgetty. When I saw him last time, doing a similar event for Cryptonomicon, he was in jeans, boots, and shirt – and far more comfortable and relaxed. Some people just don’t seem to be designed to wear suits (whereas others appear to be born in them) and Neal’s one of them.

All the same, it was good to see him, interesting to hear the answers to some of the questions asked by the audience, and (of course) get the new book signed as well. Considering that the event cost £3, and if you buy the book at the event you get £3 knocked off it, it was good value, and an enjoyable 90 minutes or so.

4am Eternal

I don’t know why, but over the last three weeks my body has decided that I need to be woken up. At 4am. Every day. Without fail.

I’ve no idea why 4am is so important, because there’s naff all happening at that time, except for the sounds of pigeons farting across the road. Yes, pigeons fart – and snore. The fuckers.

Fortunately, the insomnia isn’t quite in full effect at the moment, and I manage to get to sleep after about fifteen to thirty minutes. But it’s still enough to stuff up the sleep I was getting, and leaves my eyes looking like they belong to a sleepwalking raccoon. Hopefully I’ll be able to batter my body-clock into submission sometime soon, because this 4am waking is beginning to annoy me now…

Time flies like an arrow
Fruit flies like bananas

Well, time has flown past, and the Manchester Blogmeet is still on for tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow – it doesn’t seem like a fortnight ago that it was two weeks ’til the meet. (I’ll let you lot work that one out)

And yes, fluffy toys are still a requirement – well, for the first few, so we know where we all are. It’s not completely confirmed yet (in other words I haven’t decided) but I suspect that the moose of choice for me will be Scrooge Moose, as per the mug-shot to the right. And yes, he does still play “rudolph the red-nosed reindeer” (so far), mainly because I haven’t been arsed to open the little sod up and re-record his voice chip.

“Ho fucking Ho” is current favourite. Any other suggestions gratefully received.

Morning Glory

The first thing I saw when I opened the curtains this morning was this set of glorious sky colours. Not a bad way to wake up…

Quiet

I don’t know why, but the last couple of days I’ve just not really been in the mood for writing much. I’m hoping it’s related to feeling crap, and that normal service will be restored as soon as possible.

For now though, I’m off to bed. G’night.