Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Ancient grumpings

But all that Rob could find was a trail of foot-prints, and following them he was led through the forest, along strange overgrown paths, to a clearing, where a freshly turned mound of earth lay stark in the moonlight.

Sensing movement, he was drawn towards the mound - where, to his horror, he saw that the dirt was being pushed up from beneath. Unable to move, transfixed by horror, Rob watched as a shape rose silently out of the ground, an object held vertically by a hand who's arm remained rooted in the soil - a familiar object, yet somehow hideously deformed into a grotesque parody of its natural state - as recognition dawned, mercifully his mind snapped and he ran shrieking from the clearing "Gaaahh ! The shift-keys ! The shift-keys ! Why put them there ?"

Behind him, the PC keyboard (102 keys) stood mutely in the moonlight. . .

(From cix:laurence 26 Jun 1995)

Discussing fundamentals


You can never tell - last night I was seen wandering naked around the house by one of my sisters-in-law, and today she made me a nice packed lunch with quiche and even a slice of cake**, which could be taken as a rather unexpected form of approval for my previously unevaluated posterior.

[thinks: mind you, she hasn't had even a sniff of a man for over a year]

** That's better treatment than I get from t'wife, who can usually be relied upon to produce a bitter and twisted sandwich where the two slices of bread are not even aligned properly, and of such minuscule proportions that there's hardly anything left after the food-taster's had a bite. Gah, it's a hard life...

(From cix: 25 Oct 2004)

Computer clubs of the early 80's


Ah, nostalgia. Those days are gone forever, as are the days of cheap little trade-fairs where a software-house could go and set up a stand, sell hundreds of tapes for a few quid that the tax man never found out about and get seriously pissed/stoned in front of an adoring public.

At least, that's how it should have been - in practice, however, usually the company car'd break down on the way, we'd cut our fingers to ribbons inserting cassette inlays and the guys with the drugs (don't ever do a trade-fair sober) wouldn't turn up, the adoring public would turn out to be masses of snotty little kids who'd spend all day playing the games for nothing while nicking everything that wasn't nailed down and we'd get into a fight 'cause Neil leant on and knocked over the neighbouring stand. . .

(From cix 16 Oct 2000)