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"Hello. I've lost my NI number."
"Where are you living, sir?"
"Runnymede."
"Your details are not up to date. You will need to fill in a change of address form and post it in; then we can post you your NI number."
"I think the address you have on file..."
"I asked you where you were living, and you said Runnymede."
(inspiration) "Um... I am ALSO living in Cambridge. I am in the process of moving. I believe the address you have is Cambridge."
(pause, then) "Thank you, sir, I will send your NI number to Cambridge."

I am getting flashbacks to "Brazil" here.

In telling stories about my school life, I remembered this one (which reminded me of

sabotabby).

Background: In England the state will pay for your education up to the age of 18, two years after the school leaving age. The two optional years are known as "sixth form" and are preparation for university. If this reminds you of the OWL/NEWT exams in Harry Potter, there's a reason for that.

Well, at the start of our time in sixth form, all the students were shepherded into a room with chairs, and the sixth form teachers addressed us thus:

THE TEACHERS: What would you say was the purpose of education?

THE PUPILS: Well, it's to prepare for working life, innit.

THE TEACHERS: Nice try, but no. Employers are always complaining that kids out of school don't know things.

THE PUPILS: Well, er, is it to learn about culture and stuff?

THE TEACHERS: Did you learn much about culture and stuff?

THE PUPILS: No.

THE TEACHERS: Well then.

THE PUPILS: We give up.

THE TEACHERS: Well, you're all in sixth form now, right? So you're the ones who are going to go to university and end up being the bosses in future. So we're allowed to tell you this now, but we weren't before. Education is actually there to keep the bosses up and the working class down.

THE PUPILS: ...?

THE TEACHERS: Your school experience has been pretty crap so far, right? And university should be better, right? So the school experience that the working class gets is crap, and the school experience that the future bosses get is better. That way, the bosses, that's you and us, we get to make sure that the distinction between the classes stays where it is, with you and us on top.

THE PUPILS: ...?

THE TEACHERS: Don't you see what a fantastic system this is?

THE PUPILS: ...?

THE TEACHERS: Well, er, actually we don't believe any of that. We just thought we'd say it because we wanted to see how you'd argue back. And also because you're in sixth form now and you should be exposed to interesting new ideas. And now let's talk about timetables.

Katie pointed out this time-travel shirt to me. ("No, not the time-travel trousers.") What are the time-travel artefacts around the edges?

There's the TARDIS at twelve o'clock, the DeLorean at one o'clock, Hermione's magic necklace at ten o'clock, and the map from Time Bandits at five o'clock. I recognise the whirly thing at nine o'clock but I can't place it. The toaster at four o'clock is confusing me quite a lot. Any other suggestions?

(From http://teefury.com/, in case you want to buy one.)

I want to go to SLEEP but my brain is writing the LIBRETTO for a ROCK OPERA VERSION of THE WASTE LAND.

Yeah, April is
The month that breeds
The lilac plants
That no-one needs
It stirs the roots
With boring rain
And drags us round
The year again

enters, high-kicking
I'll show you FEAR...
in a handful of DUST...
and they CALL ME the HY-A-CINTH GIIIIRRRL.

---

She's just thirty-one, and now look at her face,
I tell you she's past her prime.
And then, when that chemist gave her the pills...
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME.

Why'd you get hitched if you didn't want kids?
You with your teeth, it's a crime.
Think of poor Albert now he's demobbed.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME.

---

please make it stop.

( how annoying was it to be Gauss's maths teacher? )

Current Mood: silly

I would hurry to the kitchen
with pedipalps a-twitching,
to see what I could get.
And when there I would eat all
the insides of every beetle,
if I had a spinnerette.
And that's only the beginning;
it sets my head a-spinning
when flies are in my net.
To the edge I would scarper
where I'd pluck it like a harper
if I had a spinnerette.
Oh, I could catch the fly
that ventured near my web,
then another as the hunger starts to ebb.
I'd be an arthropod celeb.
And I'd tell the tale with recaps
from more than seven kneecaps
to everyone I met.
And I'd be the provider
of a web for every spider
if I had a spinnerette.

I told the fishmonger I was in love with you
I told the fishmonger I was in love with you
And then the fishmonger, he told me what to do
And he said, dace, plaice, whiting, sole, perch, sprat, halibut and flounder.
Dace, plaice, whiting, sole, mackerel and trout and hake.

"Can I have a strawberry milkshake, please? And you have an interesting name."

"My name's Taylor."

"Oh. That's a good name too, but it says 'You were served by Trail' on the till. And I thought maybe your parents were hikers and you were conceived on a trail somewhere."

"Oh. No. I've just started and I'm on probation. It's supposed to say Trial."

"Oh, I see. Thanks for the milkshake, anyway, and good luck with the job."

Yesterday, Kit did me the honour of being my guest at the annual CUHaGS St Nicholas' Feast, which was held in the hall at Caius:

One of the particularly interesting things about Caius is that there are memorials to famous Caians around the place. There is an oil painting of Stephen Hawking, a stained-glass double helix to commemorate Francis Crick, and a stained-glass Venn diagram to commemorate John Venn.

Also in attendance were a bishop in his robes, a Wing Commander sporting many medals and an impressive moustache, several PhDs in full-dress gowns, and the usual characters. The food was good and the wine was very good. There was a proper boar's head carried in to the Boar's Head Carol; the President then found that nobody had a knife and had to borrow a sgian-dubh from a nearby Scotsman, which was well-suited to the purpose. Afterwards there was much loud singing of carols and other songs; I was rather happy to find myself joining in an impromptu rendition of Dives in Omnia. The end of the evening came too soon, as always, and although several people invited us to carry on to an after-party, we thought it prudent to leave while we were still standing.

A wonderful night, and I hope there are many more to come.

Give me nests in the basement in boxes;
Give me webs in the wooden beams;
Give me flies when they fly to my funnels;
Let me scuttle out and hear the screams.
Tegenaria! Tegenaria!
Tegenaria du-ell-ica!
Rest assured they're living with you,
You'll discover where they are.

They have venom that's harmless to humans,
They are shy and they love to hide,
They can run at three metres a second,
And the females are four inches wide.
Tegenaria! Tegenaria!
Tegenaria du-ell-ica!
Rest assured they're living with you,
You'll discover where they are.

They are rather more worried by humans
Than the humans are scared of them,
So be nice to your giant house spider
When it wanders by at 3am.
Tegenaria! Tegenaria!
Tegenaria du-ell-ica!
Rest assured they're living with you,
You'll discover where they are.

Next on the History Channel: Michael Finnegan: the true story. Did the wind really remove a man's whiskers? (Viewers are warned that this programme is infinitely long.)

I was looking at the way they used to gloss the Vulgate in manuscripts, and I was playing with doing the same in PDF. I don't know whether this would be useful to anyone; I could do it with any language pair, really. Apologies in advance to anyone who would like to correct my Greek. :)

I haven't been around much, recently.

I wanted to mention that I am going to make a print-on-demand book of about a hundred of my formal poems. You can download the PDF for nothing and read it that way if you like. At some point in the near future there will be a printed version of the same thing. I always welcome comment and criticism.

I've recreated the fan page on Facebook for my writing. If you enjoy my work and you're on Facebook, please like the page. (I need 25 fans to get a plain URL.) I'm probably going to post discount codes and previews on there, so it should be worth your while. Tell your friends, as well.

Dear smart people: can you recommend me a book on the particular cultural problems faced by migrants to the UK from the countries that acceded to the EU in 2004?

Back from the dentist. All is well; it was remarkably quick and relatively painless. I have a wad of gauze in my mouth to stop it bleeding everywhere, which I am occasionally gagging on.

The way to the market lay across the river, which was frozen solid. Children who did not specially want anything to happen were happily skating, and the ice obligingly did not break for them. Beside the river was Midsummer Common, where in warmer weather you could often find cows. But at this time of year, the cows were gratefully eating hay in their warm byres. Maria thought of them with envy.

Yesterday I went to mass first thing. Our priest had just come back from seeing his new granddaughter and was full of the news; it was very happy.

Then I went on to the dentist. They took X-rays of my teeth, but I kept gagging on the thing they put in your mouth, so they had to take a picture with the big X-ray machine. For that I had to take some of my piercings out, and some of them healed up in the time it took to put them back in again.

The dentist was very friendly and helpful. He says I have a broken wisdom tooth, and it'll have to come out. That will be next Tuesday, when the dental surgeon comes in. Until then, I have painkillers.

In the time I was waiting for the dentist, I mostly finished the last chapter but four of the current novel. I believe I might be able to get it done entirely today (Thursday) if I put my mind to it.

Later I went shopping for new trousers with Fin, since we're going to Tracy's wedding.

I cooked dinner (it was ravioli and meatballs) and while I cooked I talked to Kit on the phone: it was her birthday. So it was a pretty good day.

Go on, go up towards the light,
my escalator-sharing friend,
but save the patronising glares

you throw to neighbours standing right.
We'll reach the summit in the end.
The busker plays; we're out of chairs.

And soon, and soon, comes on the night,
when none can walk, and life will tend
to turn to temporary stairs.

I like writing hymns; I think I'll make a tag for it. This is based around Psalm 1; it's in 87878787, so a lot of tunes will match it.

Let an apple tree be planted
close beside a ditch of mud,
let its roots be parched and aching,
ever waiting for the flood;
let its small and bitter apples
overhang the streambed dry,
cursed to live and never flourish,
painful grow, and painful die.

Yet, this tree shall be transplanted
to a meadow by a stream;
clouds shall shower down their mercies,
sunlight throw its kindest beam;
roots recall the feel of fullness,
by the river, in the rain,
branches shall be pruned and ready,
hope and apples grow again.

Once we too were far from water,
once our branches too were cursed;
at your word we were transplanted
with your hope to fill our thirst;
with your daily word to feed us
as an anchor for our root;
with your eye upon our branches
filled with blossom, filled with fruit.

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Recent Entries

Bureaucracy

The purpose of education

Timewarp

Madame Sosostris and the Amazing Wicked Pack of Cards

degauss

Spinnerette

fishmonger

I am somewhere in Surrey today

The St Nick's Feast

Tegenaria duellica

Next on the History Channel

Gloss

Time blew away like dandelion seed

Facebook and my writing

Dear lazyweb

You know the drill

from the sequel to "Not Ordinarily Borrowable"

Wednesday: mostly about teeth

Escalator

Psalm 1