remember that other time when I would only read the backs of cereal boxes

Even Squeaker was tired by Sunday evening.

We'd started today with a hastily improvised progressive rock jam session that only the very hardy could listen to in playback, using one microphone, with the players moving nearer or further away in an analogue semblance of mixing the sound.



Then an extended French breakfast with milky coffee, croissant and fromage.

I think it may have already been early afternoon.

Later we travelled onward to an impromptu wine tasting and then eventually to The Duchess for some pub food, where we chatted in the assembling shadows from the adjacent Battersea Power Station.

no trade marks hurt in the process

I'll admit to goofing off from blogging for a few days this week. A combination of extra events meant I was invariably back late most evenings, with the record probably being Friday evening after the pub lock-in.

That's not to say there hasn't been quite a lot happening. I was with Ed the Synth on Tuesday evening, then by almost complete chance with two friends from different parts of America, who both coincidentally happened to be in London Wednesday evening. Thursday featured a very late Japanese dinner which brings me back to Friday locked in pub.

I also recollect that Thursday featured the draft construction at 1 a.m. of a test logo for an upcoming Devoted and Disgruntled event. We created the logo and then tried it out on some New York scenes in preparation for the marketing of the event.

lightning fast mortal combat

I just noticed the movement at the edge of the window.

Mortal combat.

Roughly even sized adversaries each with different and distinct advantages. Fighting so fast that it couldn't register with the human eye. The fly had managed to keep a wing free and was twirling so fast that there was a simple blur of legs and bodies.

It would stop for a moment and then resume, without obvious advantage to victim or pursuer.

Then, suddenly, in the midst of a black blur, the web's strong thread snapped and they were whisked into the air.

As I type this, the spider has returned.

Seemingly alone.

don't panic

I know there's more important things to shout from the rooftops, but one is also reminded not to panic on days like today. Depending how it is measured, today is the 30th anniversary of the Hitch Hikers' Guide to the Galaxy (h2g2).

Douglas Adams helped create a very British version of Life in Space adding much to everyones' knowledge of all things intergalactic with gargleblasters, paranoid androids and, of course, the very important number 42.

I have the Guide installed on my phone, for moments when I need smile.

An example entry poses that whilst Earth generates lots of noisy radio signals now, they could all suddenly stop as a result of moving to lower powered satellite reflected digital signals. This relatively sudden cessation will alert our near neighbours of our planet and its changing conditions.

So will the Futurama prophesy come true? We'd see space folk from Omicron Persei 8 arrive demanding to see the final episode of Single Female Lawyer (Ally McBeal) no longer viewable at a long distance since digital cutover?

It will still take a long time to find out.

If Gliese 581c is one of our neighbouring galaxies nearest "earth like" planets, it is still around 20 light years or 120 trillion (trillian?) miles so right now if they watched earth telly they would be watching the Berlin Wall coming down. It'll be another 8 years before the first episode of Ally McBeal even reaches them.

And pity the poor folk on 47 Ursa Majoris. Not only has it been sent two customised Cosmic Call 2 messages to decode, but they were also broadcast the first interstellar advertisement from a radar array at the EISCAT European space station.

Advertising what? Why Doritos tortilla chips, of course.

how could I refuse a favour or two?

When I was still weak from the Moscow tryst a couple of years ago, I made a comment that sometimes things can start all over again.

Now I sense the progression. No bagman's gambit, each time the motorcade looks different and I see other ways for Декабристы to take the Senate.

That's how it is with the NaNoWriMo.

Still three weeks away, but around the right time to decide whether or not to try to clear an hour a day to write 1,666 words.

I've got mixed feelings but I suspect the tattooed Miranda will persuade me.

bagman's gambit - decemberists

in a surprise result, Saturday ran to plan

Unlike Friday, Saturday ran to plan, except that I hadn't really been told all of it until part way through. Suffice to say that we linked together a series of events pretty seamlessly, which started at around 10:30 in the morning and probably finished somewhere around 2 a.m. on Sunday, by which time much tea had been consumed.

A principle objective was to shower Katherine with cupcakes, which we did pretty comprehensively and I think I'm personally still on a sugar rush as I back-post this on Sunday morning. Along the way there was fairly comprehensive central London navigation, much chatter and some midnight bike riding.

Not to mention the "blogger's moment" where people referenced things I'd done that I'm sure I haven't told them about - but of course they'd read here on rashbre central. Copies of 'The Triangle' were also dispensed.

Antidote upon application.

caged in or caged out?

Today didn't go quite to plan.

It started routinely enough with some phone meetings and general email finagling.

Then, at around eleven o'clock, everything quietly derailed and I found myself in an altogether different situation.

Its nothing to worry about, but its as if a few of the little cages that hide in trees had jumped out to capture my day and its plans.

I know the secret though, sometimes you have to look down in order to go up.

diagonalism

It's National Poetry Day today, so here's my three minute muse on this year's theme of Heroes and Heroines.

I never learned how to exist;
I used to obtain everything I wanted from inside of me.
My twilights reached to another galaxy;
Surface affections wouldn't betray the actor.
Elaborate misperceptions defying the analysis
whilst fleeting dreams of sky and pebbles
hid the serpent.

Then you came along and horizons tilted.
Yin became yang and the elementals realigned.
I wasn't a hero but you made me one.
My heroine.

soggy blackberry city blur

A smiling moment last weekend whilst cycling. Sunday sunshine country lanes and people picking blackberries close to the road. I hold that thought because:

Travelling to a meeting this morning for 10:00. The snag was it had been cancelled. But only at 09:32. By email. I picked it up on my blackberry from within the cab on the last part of the journey. Sometimes a Plan B is just not enough.

Oh.

And then it rained.

Copiously.

a quiet Tuesday evening

The evening started sedately enough.

A quiet drink standing outside a pub by the river. Even a brief stroll along a short part of the tow-path. Of course, later there were the suggestions to move along to a nearby curry house, which was within sight, but on the other side of the river.

Rain and the full descent of darkness, to a point where I couldn't quite remember if we'd arrived at the pub in daylight. I do remember a skiff being rowed with small headlights on each end of it though.

We made our way through the rain in a slightly disorderly fashion across the bridge, around a corner, down some stairs, past a couple of arches and into the restaurant.

A default 'Menu for 12' or however many we had in the group. "Will the complementary wines be red or white?" came the waiter's question and we settled for some of both.

Now I was being good and sipped my still water, whilst others quaffed robust quantities of whatever was on offer. The poppadoms arrived and we fiddled with the chutneys and yoghurt whilst engrossed in animated debate. As the evening moved along, I noticed some of those about me beginning to fragment and lose their full sentence structures.

I also discovered that several had booked to stay in an adjacent hotel, so I was one of the few with plans to head home afterwards. At about 'very late' a small group of us "homeward bound" left together, leaving the hotel gang to further wine and discussion. I also rescued a coat and umbrella left behind by an earlier tired and emotional departure.

Tomorrow there will be fragility and headaches for some.

@chuckmanners would know what to do

biking to the sorting office instead of taking the Alfa to Cannes

My thanks for the various emails and wishes associated with the imminent publication of 'The Triangle'.

This morning saw me spin across to the sorting office with a backpack of the books. I've started to send out some reviewer copies and this was the second tranche.

The rest of today is taken up with other activities, so I knew if I didn't act immediately, it will probably be next weekend before I have any more time. I'm not expecting full page advertisements in the weekend supplements, so the marketing will need to be self-generated.

I should make a special 'Thank you' to one individual for helping me get this far with this. Fellow blogger Debra and I met together in Amsterdam quite some time ago, after I'd waited outside the rather dubious looking 'Mellow Yellow' koffie shop.

Debra had then shown me to an ironically altogether more mellow establishment where we'd sipped drinks and talked about each others attempts at writing. We agreed to swap fledgling manuscripts and have been cheerfully critiquing what one another has been doing. In the meantime, Debra has moved country and published a rather excellent photography project whilst I've struggled on with the novel in stolen minutes.

The origin of my writing was one of the annual NaNoWriMo competitions which run every November, during which I cranked out most of the original words, largely based upon the actual places I was visiting at the time. For example, there's a scene in the novel in a rather plush hotel room, which is completely based upon a random hotel upgrade I received at the time.

I can't claim any biographical elements in the story, but I have featured a number of places that were part of my world at the time of writing. So whether its London, Normandy, Cannes, Riyadh or Washington, I was flittering through these places and the various settings whilst writing. Probably only the novel's character Brophy can spot the laser point on this sign above my hotel suite. The New York scenes will have to wait for the sequel.

But for now, back to the weekend shopping, and no, I don't have an Alfa.