ramtops, as in generally the case, rose from her pit earlier than me this morning to find a… substantial… gift from the Tribe in the study. Indecent burial of the sad remains fell to yrs. truly, but she gave me sanction to weigh the thing (once enbagged) on the kitchen scales.

At 8½ oz (240g), not quite up to the standard of January 2004’s 9 oz beast, but not to be sniffed at, as it were. Our guess is that Ratboy was (ir)responsible, but neither he nor any of the others are letting on.

Unlike mice and shrews, rats don’t seem to get consumed; Mac reckons this might be down to the lack of tomato ketchup. And buns.

[ x-posted from the Tribe’s blog ]

Couple of things that deserve wider circulation.

Zombizi posts a rare entry on his blog about one of the many victims of the rule change in the Highly Skilled Migrant Programme.

Last November the UK government changed the rules for the Highly Skilled Migrant Programme. The shitty thing they have done is to apply these rules retrospectively, suddenly putting many people who had made their homes here at risk of deportation.

One such a person is my close personal friend and favourite Uncle, Bill Tonghoek. He pretty much scored maximum points in the test, except for the fact that he doesn’t have a university degree, leaving him 5 short of the requisite 75. If you were to spend more than 5 minutes with the man you’d realise that there’s a very good reason for this. He’s clearly the most educated person on the planet and able run intellectual circles around most cardigan-wearing professors.... no university would have him. To say our country will be a poorer place without this high-earning, tax-paying, big-spending individual is a massive understatement, and not for the reasons stated above.

You can read what’s happening to his friend, and consider another way in which our government is being actively evil.

Elsewhere (via Cat Vincent), we find that in our brave NewLabour world, being overconfident in public is now an indication of criminal, nay, terrist intent. So be careful out there, youall, remember to shuffle in a fearful fashion, with your eyes cast down, lest you get dragged away as the subversive you surely are.

Well, we’re back.

An excellent long weekend In Norwich with kalunina and the HarryMoose, who has grown in an unfeasible fashion and is still and continuingly utterly wonderful. We drove over on Friday and feasted on kebabs (yay!) in the evening, joined by Harry’s grandfather, Maurice, (I’m GrandPete) for the occasion.

On Saturday we drove to the seaside, to Sheringham, where we wandered, consumed fish’n’chips and ice cream, and pondered without enlightenment the scattered groups of people lounging around dressed in WW2ish clothing. If anyone knows what was going on, please feel free to tell us.

[ ETA that it was this - many thanks to timill for the datapoint. ]

We drove back to Norwich by the scenic along the coast route, which was largely occupied by an extended relay road race, runners paced by bicyclists. Again, we know not why. Back home, we feasted on crab sarnies made with crabmeat we bought in Sheringham, drank a glass or two of wine and retired to bed.

Today, ramtops and I returned home; you can insert the standard complaint about distance between Long Ashton and Norwich here; it’ll be far too long before we get to see Clare or Harry again. Still, we have been with them again, and it was good.

An unusually energetic weekend. Harry rang on Saturday morning and asked if I’d like to help shift gravel for the FUG by the bypass, to provide some hardcore over the clay under nearby gates for when it next rains (clay soil + rain = squelch). There were four of us with spades and two barrows, and all but the last barrow full went to the nearest gate, so it weren’t too much work; still more than I’m used to these days, though, and under a pretty warm sun too. I enjoyed the whole process hugely - using my body, and not a bloody computer anywhere in sight - and also discovered that a couple of velcro straps are admirably useful in attaching a spade to a bicycle. I needed a hot shower when I got home though. Oh yes.

Yesterday, ramtops and I went out for a walk in the morning. We’d agreed to survey one of the local paths a while back for FUG, from the Viridor road to Castle Farm on the A38, and finally circumstances and desires coincided. We took the scenic route to our starting point and found the first part of the path pretty much choked with brambles; this is not a well travelled route. We came out into a field, and followed its boundary round in an A38-ish direction until we reached a farm and its track; at this point, we were clearly going wrong and the OS map confirmed we were on the blue path in my linked map. I couldn’t see how we could have missed the path we were aiming for and Mac, sensibly, suggested we try it from the other end and see where we ended up.

Walking along the Bristol-bound side of the A38 isn’t recommended. No footpath (there’s one the other side, but crossing that road twice seemed even less recommended). Still, we reached the path end and followed the route (red on the map) back towards the infill site. Turns out there is a stile buried in the hedge just along from the top of the bramble-infested slope we’d climbed earlier. It’s pretty much invisible unless you look back at it from just the right angle having first passed it, so it’s unsurprising that we’d missed it. Still, mission accomplished, ad we can report on what needs signing, clearing and repairing at the meeting on Tuesday.

We continued trudging in a homeward direction (fairly hot and tired by this point) round the edge of a cornfield that reminded us both, inevitably, of Field of Dreams, and thence via more unsigned paths over Ashton River and the bypass to the top end of the village and the Angel: oh blessed relief; a pint has rarely been more welcome. And so back home, some 4½ hours after we left.

Yes, we did watch Field of Dreams in the afternoon, and a very fine film it is too. Not a dry eye in the house either. And last night, we slept like things that sleep.

Being ill has meant that I’ve not been motivated to post about this year’s TWSC, which is a pity, so I think I’ll write a little bit now, as I am at least functioning in some slight fashion mentally (if still hitting a periodic wall whenever I think I’m finally through it all).

The tenth anniversary of Team Waste, and it was the best Summer Camp I’ve been to, even in spite of being laid up with what, presumably, was the first wave of what hit me this week on Saturday afternoon and night. A really happy, laid back vibe; no drama that I’m aware of (a first!), nobody needed hospitalisation and the weather was as perfect as anyone could have asked.

Discussion elsewhere (about Burning Man and What It Is For) reminded me of Temporary Autonomous Zones, and that’s exactly what SC is: a safe environment with its own terms of engagement as detached from the busies, paranoias and prejudices of the proto-fascist redtop world we’re normally embedded in as is possible. Breakdowns in trust do happen, of course - that’s inevitable in any collective as large as this - but the solidarity the binds us is stronger. For now, at least. It really is the one thing that ramtops and I look forward to all year: time out for recharging our souls, and spending time with people we rarely if ever see elsewhere and elsewhen.

And the Rangie quadbike ran!

ETA: mad props[¹] to Geoff and Sheena for making the whole thing possible, of course!

[ my photos (still with a few more to upload as I write), and everybody’s ]

[¹] or something like that

Anyone who wants to commiserate with my ordeal today, or indeed, laugh and point, can join me tomorrow on the Bristol Pride Cycle with Pride cycling wossname somewhere on the triangle formed by the Arnolfini, Pill and, well, the Failand Triangle. Where I may well mysteriously disappear. I’ll be there unless I’m not.

Not much I can add to what ramtops has already written, but our day of hardware hell seems to be almost over - if that’s not tempting fate.

I’ve been without computer all day, too, as I keep /home on the server that died. Nice to see this box spring back into life without a qualm though, as soon as the rebodied detritus appeared. Can’t say the same about Windows; our PDC is complaining that it’s lost its “trust relationship” with the box. Different MAC address, maybe, but I haven’t the brainpower right now to do anything about it.

Never mind about setting up the new SATA disks as a RAID1 pair, migrating the linux install onto them and swapping out the old drive so I can connect the (PATA) internal removable backup drive. And whatever else needs doing that I haven’t thought of yet.

Hardware. Hate. HATE. Hatety Hate McHate.

Thursday

160-mile round trip to Southampton to see Richard Thompson. An excellent night at a good and blessedly smoke-free venue (the newly resurrected Brook - nasty website, and why so many “tribute” bands?), but home at well past 2am.

Saturday

Alarm at 5:30am, and straight out of bed to walk the length of the village to the Balloon Fiesta at Ashton Court. A beautiful dawn that misted over, disrupting ballooning proceedings somewhat, but none the worse from ground level. A lazy day followed, sorting through photos and driving out to Gloucester Road for a few essentials (multimeter, SATA card, superglue, double-layer DVDs from Maplin; conc. apple and blackcurrent juice from the wholefood shop), followed by finally watching The Incredibles, which was a lot better than I expected and will require re-viewing soon to pick out a few more of the multitude of genre and film references that make the thing up. I may blog my take on the film’s socio-cultural underpinnings at some point, but probably won’t bother.

Sunday

Upload Saturday’s photos to flickr and get ready for going to that Lunnon by train to see Show of Hands and the Levellers with ccomley, Liz and friends whose names I characteristically can’t remember. ramtops and I went up at lunchtime, and strolled in a leisurely fashion to Regents Street (no prizes for guessing where), and then to Soho for cups of tea and a quiet sit, reading our books. Walking on in the direction of Regents Park, we stopped for a generally excellent Greek meal in Marylebone (the octopus was a mite tough; the restaurant were decent enough to knock the price of that meze off the bill without even being asked). Meeting up with Chris&Co in the park, we strolled to the outdoor theatre and fine performances from both bands in perfect evening weather. We had to leave before the end to catch our train and hailed a timely passing cab as we were walking out of the park. Home and in bed by 1:30 and now, too few hours later, up and at my desk.

On Craigmillar Community Library

Here as a result of a hard won community fight. Authorities argued, “People in Craigmillar don’t read”. It has recently won national acclaim for their “Book for Babies” initiative.

On power and powerlessness

Claims by the powerful that the powerless exploit often conceal acts where the powerless attained some power through cunning or intelligence, and left the powerful person feeling unjustly denied.

( not a lot to say really )

But I read no explanation of why (in the UK children’s edition at least) there appears to be a Constitution class starship somewhere behind one of the Hogwarts towers. I think we should be told.