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baldyza: RT @stojmir: Cyantific - Return of the ghetto blaster http://tinyurl.com/3yp77fx #drumandbass

baldyza: damnit forgot to commit code last night. So I cant fix it today. Need to start writing instead.

baldyza: more malloc memory illegal access errors to find after my code refactoring

baldyza: last day at this job! Off to Edinburgh for the weekend

Poen and I are going to (try) and paint the town red red wine tonight.

I say 'try' simply because we don't have as much gas in the tank as we used to.

In about a month I'm 30. But might as well make hay while the sun shines, in that Poen is moving to Kenya permanently at the end of August.

But before we go to Piccadilly, to fight crowds and get sloshed.

[Sidenote: two things that I knew would affect me in London.
1) clouds; and
2) crowds.

The latter is fucking ridiculous. This place is a constant throng of human sweat and bodies. I have taught myself to meditate as I bob through the morning and weekend human traffic like a leaf bourne to the wind, and not freak out, panic and stab them with my umbrella]

...I need to know what to do with my underpants.

Fuck.

Yesterday I wore one sock to work. God knows where the other one went, or why I only realised I was wearing one sock three hours later.

Today, I slipped into my jean pant. Where a pair of doondies I failed to notice this morning, found themselves wedged between my leg and the inside of my jeans.

I've been waltzing around the office all morning, with a pair of French knickers scrunched up in my leg. I'm wondering how they didn't slip down and fall out of my trouser at breakfast.

You know, while grabbing a bowl of berries in the communal cafe, and while trying to look intelligent and important, they drop out of my trouser leg onto the floor. In front of 8000 other people.

Thank fuck they were unwittingly trapped, taken hostage by my strident thighs, or some such.

I only noticed this when I booked in for a corporate massage - that's right, my work has one of these, complete with effeminate masseuse - and saw I had a spare pair of doondies stuffed into the leg of my bloody pants.

It must've looked like some weird growth formation.

Anyway, any idea of where I should put these before Poen and I go out and get smashed? I was thinking they would make a nice lacy hat for when it rains, or maybe just stuff them down my jeans again and call myself a ....man.

PS: They're in my pocket right now. Safe or stupid?

baldyza: RT @tweetmeme But He Loves You… http://bit.ly/bOGMQ5

baldyza: Error: unexpected ';' , the joy of jumping from R to C and back again

baldyza: scaling is a bitch.

baldyza: got bitten in the ass with a malloc. Fixed it now !

baldyza: mini celebration, all my coding is done. Now the fun stuff of drawing pretty graphs and writing begins.

So on chavs.

I get a link sent to me by a colleague in South Africa the other day, saying 'Mate, are these the types you're hanging out with in London these days?'

The answer is a flat no.

It's difficult to tell whether this person is on drugs, is purely psycho, on drugs and angry, or just insanely vexed.

To give you context, the suburb of Peckham is located south of south of the river. And is known for it's propensity for this sort of thing.

(Watch with earplugs. Watch til the end, trust me it's an education of illusionist walking-straight-through-doors-ing. It's wild.)


Like, what would you do? I'd run off the bus and take refuge amongst the bowels of the underwear section of Top Shop.

Either way, this is not normal.

In my neighbourhood, where I'm surrounded by rather...arcanely quiet council estates.
When the Brit and I were walking down the street, one little chubby 8 year old bounced up to us and said:
Oy. Can I 'ave a fag.

Brit: No. Sorry.

Peas: We don't have any. Hang on, how old are you dude?

Kid: Fiftayne.

Peas: Like hell you're 15. Go home and give your mummy a hug.

And that's about it really. My ghetto is chilled compared to Peckham.

Thank fuck.

baldyza: This whole rough diamond thing is so sad -> "Ms. Campbell concluded that the diamonds were “not very impressive.”"

Soaring through London's numerous museums one weekend at a time.

I wandered around the London Transport Museum on Saturday. Besides the ten pounder I had to fork out, it was worth the perusal, just on the fact that I am tube-obsessed.

I don't like taking 'em, but I DO like talking about 'em.

Just to be clear.

I was part of a story campaign a few years back, when Woollies launched it's Twist label and got a few of us to write stories 'with a twist.'
I chose to write about the Tube.

I digress. I went to a museum filled with Victorian tubes, the old red buses, the new tubes - like whole trains - and how it's developed since the 1800s.

The part where the Brits have used the tube stations as bomb shelters for both World Wars was rather interesting.

Lots of people have died underneath London's earth crust. Either by hurling themselves on the live railings, or by bomb, or by fires (from cigarette butts catching alight on the wooden staircases), or by someone tripping during a stampede.

One oke, driving the train, drove it straight into a wall, killing over 70 people. He basically committed suicide and bought the entire train along with him, as they found no brake marks or any indication it was an accident otherwise.

Bearing in mind I'm about to take a train home, and now am a little scared that the driver suddenly develops psychotic amnesia and does something insane.

My life is now at the hands of another driver. Everyday. Twice a day.

Fuck. I'm almost scared to leave work. Almost.

Anyway whatever, the real win of the weekend wasn't going to see a museum full of last centuries modes of transport.

The win was this conversation.

Ozzie: Peas, so I had a bath.

Peas: What.

Ozzie: I had a bath mate. I was intrigued as to why you found them so great and have to say I'm a changed woman. I forgot how good they were.

Peas: Wow. Seriously.

Ozzie: That's roight. Thanks for the suggestion.

She's bathing. I don't believe it.

Another strange and yet deeply touching scenario was when, on Friday, I came home after a few glasses of wine, flopped down on the couch and promptly fell asleep with a wine glass stem wedged between my thighs.

And after nudging my arm, removing the wine glass, she put a blanket over me. And I only woke up dazed and confused 10 hours later.

She also bought my washing in from the rain. Pants, bra's, the whole schtick.

Now I realise why I wanted to move into a shared house. These are the aspects I've missed.

Having friends at home. I think I can almost start calling her that.

(I've clearly underestimated her. I think. One can never be too sure when it comes to the Ozzies.)

baldyza: outlook, what a pain.

baldyza: still dont feel responsible enough to use malloc

baldyza: developed a nasty *** caught segfault *** address 0x1, cause 'memory not mapped'. Time to roll back my changes

baldyza: stop thinking about it and write it.. my new mantra.

baldyza: got some Led Zeppelin to listen to, not sure if its going to be my thing.

baldyza: friday, friday, friday thats all my brain is thinking right now.

baldyza: rooibos tea fixes everything.