Be Right Back

By Huckleberry Hax

Tuesday, 2 September. So I created a Second Life account today. Actually, I created two. First of all I created the identity 'Marcus Foible', but that was kind of done in haste. I spent about a minute on the decision. I thought, 'What the hell does it matter what I call myself in this place?' And then I was standing around in this place where they send you when you're new, looking at all the names above the heads of others, and I thought, 'Marcus? Marcus? Why the hell did I call myself Marcus?'.

Autumn 2008: whilst the markets plunge and the US elects its new President, one man enters into a virtual world in a search for a real world killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huckleberry Hax
• Release date: Jul 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465996978

Huckleberry Hax

Huckleberry Hax writes novels set in and around virtual worlds. His best-known titles are the books of the AFK series set in Second Life®.A resident of Second Life since 2007, Huck also writes regularly on his blog about the metaverse and was a columnist for the acclaimed AVENUE magazine for over two years. His book, Second Life is a place we visit, collects together 42 of these articles.Huck is also an experienced voice performer in SL and has read aloud from his and other titles at a wide range of venues, including Milkwood, The Blue Angel, Bookstacks, Cookie, Nordan Art and Basilique.Huck's other interests include poetry (he has published a volume of his own poems called Old friend, learn to look behind you in the coffee queue and co-edited issue one of the poetry journal, 'Blue Angel Landing'), photography and machinima.

Book preview

Some days, it astonishes me how much text we can generate between us in half an hour.

Stop Stare: We had a team day today.

Henry Hard: Oh yes?  Did they provide you with lunch?

William Shing: I hate team days.

Stop Stare: Yes, they bought in finger food.

Stop Stare: It was too salty.

Texter Triste nods.

William Shing: I hate training days.

Soma Supercollider: So you just said, Billiam.

Stop Stare: Really?  I kind of like them.

William Shing: It's bad enough you have to work without someone trying to make you like the people you have to work with.

Texter Triste: Since, as we all know, *that* would be a terrible thing.

Stop Stare: lol

Tear Stained: Awwww, Bill :(

Henry Hard: Actually, I'm with you on this, Bill.

Soma Supercollider: You're an idiot, Shing.

William Shing: Just let me *choose* my friends, ok?

William Shing: Thank you, Henry.

Tear Stained: Running around in woods training day or flipchart and motivational speaker training day?

Stop Stare: Flipchart and motivational speaker.

William Shing howls.  Even worse!

Stop Stare: This is how he opens... this is what we had to discuss in pairs...

William Shing: Wait!  Let me guess...

William Shing: You had to pair up with someone you didn't know very well?  Yes?

Stop Stare: Yes!

Stop Stare: I got the security guy lol

Texter Triste: You got the security guy?

Stop Stare: Old Terry himself!

Texter Triste: So who was doing security?

Stop Stare: They got a temp in, I think.

Texter Triste: A *temp*?

Texter Triste: A *temp* to do *security*?

Texter Triste: Do you trust a temp with that kind of stuff?

Stop Stare: It's not like we've got the crown jewels stashed away in there, you know.

Stop Stare: It was a proper security guy... just he was temporary.

Stop Stare: What's so bad about getting temporary staff in?

William Shing: You do get temporary doctors, after all.

Texter Triste: Temporary *doctors* aren't expected to stand in the line of fire for you.

Stop Stare: You're anticipating some sort of terrorist assault?

Texter Triste: All I'm saying is their allegiances wouldn't be the same.

Stop Stare: You seem to think Terry's some sort of coiled spring waiting to dive into the path of a bullet...

Stop Stare: Texter, he sits there reading the *Argos catalogue*.

William Shing: You could do a lot of damage with an Argos catalogue.

Soma Supercollider: Enough of your incessant wittering, rabbits; I want to hear what the speaker asked Stop to discuss.

Henry Hard: Speaking of Argos, did I tell you I got chucked out of there a few weeks back?

Soma Supercollider: Shut up, Henry.

Soma Supercollider: No-one's interested in your dirty little stories x

Stop Stare: Ok, so we had to imagine meeting a genie, who will grant you one wish...

Henry Hard takes Soma's glass and puts it in the washer before she's had a chance to finish it.

Stop Stare: ...the genie tells you you're allowed to wish for whatever you want, but whatever it is it's got to be for you and you alone...

Soma Supercollider: You're a fool, Hard.

Soma Supercollider: As if I would consume any sort of beverage prepared in this grubby little hole.

Stop Stare: ...nobody else must benefit.

William Shing: Now that's my kind of genie.

William Shing: No guilt trip for not wishing for world peace.

Texter Triste: You'd feel obliged to wish for world peace?

Tear Stained: You *wouldn't,* Texter?

Texter Triste: Not necessarily.

William Shing: Because, if you didn't wish for world peace, you just know it'd come out one day.

Texter Triste: Really?  How exactly would it 'come out'?

William Shing: I don't know... the Inland Revenue would audit the genie or something...

William Shing: There'd be a leak of some kind...  A USB stick would get lost; a laptop would get left on a train... Trust me - it *would* happen.

William Shing: You'd spend the rest of your life getting hate mail.

Tear Stained: So what the hell is wrong with world peace, Texter?

Texter Triste: Did I say there was anything wrong with it?

Tear Stained: You said you wouldn't wish for it.

Texter Triste: I said I wouldn't *necessarily* wish for it.

Tear Stained: Because...?

William Shing: See?  This is *exactly* what I'm talking about.

Henry Hard nods.

Texter Triste: Because I don't think necessarily it would be a good thing.

Tear Stained is incredulous.

Tear Stained: You don't think world peace would be a good thing?

Texter Triste: I didn't say that...

Texter Triste: I said I don't think *wishing* for world peace would be a good thing.

Tear Stained: What the hell's the difference?

Texter Triste: You don't think there's a difference between *achieving* world peace and just wishing for it to suddenly occur?

Stop Stare giggles.

Texter Triste: I mean how would that look? One minute there's war and corruption and oppression everywhere you look; next minute - bam! - everyone just loves each other?

Texter Triste: Do they just forget everything they were getting up to before?

Tear Stained: Ok Tex, very good.

Texter Triste: Seeing as actions are based upon beliefs, can we take it that all of a sudden they stop believing the stuff they used to and - just like that - start believing new things instead?

Tear Stained: I get it!

Texter Triste: What is the basis for this sudden change in schema? Is it ok to take a view on something when you have no reason for taking it? Do we have to know why we believe in anything at all?

Soma Supercollider: Enough, Texter!  Can't you see she's dead already?

Texter Triste: I believe my point is made.

William Shing: So what did Terry wish for?

Stop Stare: You want to know what *Terry* wished for?

William Shing: That's not where we're going with this?

Stop Stare: No!

Texter Triste: I must admit, *I'm* curious.

William Shing: He wanted super powers, right?

Stop Stare: No, he didn't.  As a matter of fact, he wished for money.

Texter Triste:  Money!  Of course!  It's so obvious now!

Wiliam Shing: How much did he go for?

Stop Stare: He didn't say.

Wiliam Shing: What do you mean, he didn't say?  He must have a figure. Everyone's got a figure!

Texter Triste: Indeed.

Texter Triste: Mine's ten million.

Texter Triste: Although I'm a little uncertain as to how I'd get it into my bank account without anybody noticing.

Texter Triste: I had considered some sort of ebay/PayPal combination.

Wlliam Shing: Good idea.

Stop Stare: You have a *plan* for this?

William Shing: For the genie question?  Of course!

William Shing: Who doesn't?

Henry Hard: You never know when you might get asked.

William Shing: Exactly!

William Shing: Imagine a genie popping up unexpected and you mess up your wish because you're unprepared.

William Shing: You don't want to make a stupid wish you end up regretting later.

Texter Triste: You could be drunk and end up wishing by accident for fried chicken!

Stop Stare: So what would your wish be, Henry?

Texter Triste: Now yours has *got* to be a super powers wish.

Henry Hard: Yeah, actually, it is; but I've got myself a privacy clause in there.

Texter Triste: eh?

Stop Stare: A what?

Henry Hard: You see, I don't especially want to wear a mask.

Henry Hard: They don't go into this in the comics, but when you think about it, what's a mask going to do except screw up your peripheral vision?

Texter Triste:  How true.  How true.

Henry Hard: The way I see it is, if you're getting your powers via a genie then why not just build anonymity into the wish?

William Shing: So, in addition to wishing for your powers, you also wish that no-one will recognise you in your  costume? 

William Shing: Brilliant!

Texter Triste: Now that's what I call out-of-the-box thinking.

Soma Supercollider: Are the boys still talking English?  They seem to have stopped making any form of sense?

Texter Triste: So Stop, about the wish thing... about the 'only you benefit' clause...

Texter Triste: Is that meant to be some sort of trick question?

Stop Stare smiles knowingly.

William Shing: What?  How do you mean?

Texter Triste: Well...

Texter Triste: Say I wish for a million pounds and the first thing I do is book a holiday...

Texter Triste: I'm going to want someone to go with, right?

Texter Triste: But if I invite someone along and pay for them then technically they're benefiting from my wish.

William Shing: So don't invite anyone along.

William Shing: Or invite them but don't pay for them.

William Shing: Seriously, you have a problem with that?

Texter Triste: What if I want to buy someone a meal?  Or a drink, even?

Texter Triste: Am I never allowed to spend any money on anyone ever again?

Texter Triste: What am I supposed to do at Christmas?  How can I get gifts for people?

William Shing: I don't understand.  You buy presents like normal.  Just nothing fancy.

Texter Triste: The money's still coming from the same pot though, isn't it.

William Shing: The same *pot*?

Texter Triste: The genie money pot!

William Shing: Then buy them with some other money!

Texter Triste: Some other money? *What* other money?

Texter Triste: Isn't the whole point of wishing for money in the first place that I don't need to spend time getting other money?

William Shing: So put the genie money in the bank and use the interest payments to buy people things with.

Soma Supercollider: You're a fool, Billiam x

William Shing:  So get a job!

Texter Triste: I don't *want* to get a job!  That's why I wished for money!

William Shing: What's the point of this?  Is this really such a big deal?

William Shing: Then stop getting people stuff!

Texter Triste: This isn't just scheduled acts of obligatory generosity we're talking about here...

Soma Supercollider: 'obligatory' hahaha silly Texter.

Texter Triste: I bet you'd be surprised at how often even the Shing Wallet gets opened on other people's behalf...

Tear Stained doesn't have high expectations on that issue...

Texter Triste: Think about it...  How are you going to achieve female companionship of an evening if you're never allowed to buy anyone dinner ever again?

William Shing: My God... My single most effective strategy would be dead in the water!

Texter Triste: You see?

Tear Stained: Let's face it – that was never actually a free lunch in the first place.

William Shing: No no no... this can't be right.

William Shing: There has to be a way around this!

Henry Hard: waaaaaiiiiitaminute.....

Stop Stare: Yes, Henry?

Henry Hard: It's even worse, isn't it?

William Shing: How do you mean?

Stop Stare listens, eagerly.

Tear Stained sees pain etched across Bill's sad little face.

Soma Supercollider: Oh do get a move on, Hard.

Henry Hard: Nevermind other people... If I buy something only for myself then the *shopkeeper* benefits!

Stop Stare: Yay!

William Shing: You've got to be kidding.

Texter Triste: Ahhhhhh....

Texter Triste: I seeeeeeeee....

Texter Triste: This was one of those 'greed is good' motivational speakers.

Stop Stare: lol

Texter Triste: The moment you do anything with the money in your pocket, someone, somewhere has to benefit.

William Shing: Oh come on... that's just ridiculous.

Soma Supercollider: Yes, he's not a proper genie at all x

Henry Hard: Basic economics, Bill; money's a circulatory system - you've got to keep it flowing.

Henry Hard: You buy something from Tom... Tom uses the money to buy something from Dick... Dick uses the money to buy something from Harry...

Henry Hard: Off it all flies, into the ether, mixing in with all the other money out there, squeezing through the tax filter every other transaction until finally enough has been scraped off to pay your doctor's salary.

Texter Triste: That's a whole lot of scraping.

Soma Supercollider: hahaha

William Shing: So what are we saying here?  That it's impossible to wish selfishly?

William Shing: What if I was to ask for a car?  Who is that going to benefit other than me?

Texter Triste: You wouldn't be able to give anyone a lift.

William Shing: Fine!

Henry Hard: Uh-uh.  It ain't gonna work.

Henry Hard: You want that car to go anywhere, you're going to have to buy petrol for it.  That benefits the oil companies.

William Shing: I'd be buying petrol for my car *anyway*!

Henry Hard: Yeah, but I bet you've got a gas guzzler in mind.

William Shing: Ok, fine!  I'll wish for a car that doesn't need petrol.

Henry Hard: Well that wouldn't work at all.

William Shing: WHY?!

Henry Hard: Think of the benefit to the environment.

Texter Triste: Ok.  So what if I wish for a car that runs on petrol but never runs out?

Henry Hard: You realise you'll never be able to sell this car?

Texter Triste: Whatever.

Henry Hard: Or give it away.

Texter Triste: Why would I want to get rid of it? I'll keep hold of *this* car until I die.

Henry Hard: And what will happen to it then?

Texter Triste: I'll leave instructions for the car to be destroyed.

Henry Hard: Wills can be contested.

Texter Triste: So make it so it only works whilst I'm alive then. You can do that, right?

Tear Stained: Is Henry a genie now?

Henry Hard: I could, but it still won't work.

Texter Triste: Why?

Henry Hard: Your car could get stolen.

Texter Triste: Would it help if I moved to a different post code?

Henry Hard: And what about the kid down the road who siphons off a gallon from your fuel tank each Sunday evening?

Texter Triste: The Robinson boy? I *knew* there was something fishy about my consumption!

Soma Supercollider: hahaha silly rabbit x

Henry Hard: I've got to be honest, I can't see this idea working.

Texter Triste: Ok... Make it so it only works when it's me in the car.

Henry Hard: When it's you driving the car or just when you're in the car?

Texter Triste: Whatever.

Henry Hard: The problem is the knock-on...

Henry Hard: Perpetual petrol means more money in your pocket...

Henry Hard: Others could end up benefiting from that.

Henry Hard: Plus you're going to want to look after that car, aren't you? That might end up making you a safer driver.

William Shing: *could* *might*

William Shing: Is it just being assumed that we'll break the conditions because it's possible to?

Tear Stained: Maybe the genie looks into the future.

William Shing: Of course it doesn't!!

Tear Stained: What, you think that would be hard for a genie?

William Shing: When did you ever hear of a genie looking into the future?

Tear Stained: They don't mention that in the genie guide?

Texter Triste: A genie could in theory grant *someone else* the power of seeing into the future, right?

William Shing: So?  *So*?

William Shing: If genies could see into the future then why would they ask what your wish was in the first place?  Wouldn't they already know?

Tear Stained: It's more sociable that way.

William Shing: Sociable?  What the hell does sociable have to do with it?

Tear Stained: You don’t think that genies have a need for social contact, being cooped up in those lamps all that time?

Soma Supercollider: So what did you wish for, Stop?

Stop Stare: Finally, someone asks me! :p

Texter Triste was just about to ask that, honest.

Stop Stare: I wished for super powers.

William Shing: Ok!  Now we're getting somewhere!

William Shing: What did you go for?

Texter Triste bets it's something girly.

Stop Stare: I wished for the ability to eat as much chocolate as I like and it only makes me slimmer.

William Shing: *What*?

Texter Triste nods.  Told you.

Soma Supercollider: hahaha.  Nice one, Stop x

William Shing: That's not a *superpower*.

Stop Stare: Of course it is, Bill.

William Shing: Chocolate!  She wastes her wish on chocolate!

Soma Supercollider: Oh, that's no wasted wish, Billiam.

Hard Luck: Interesting.  Although having this ability would of course cause you to buy more chocolate...

Stop Stare: Uh-uh – my other power is to be able to make any type of chocolate I want out of air.

Stop Stare: No chocolate manufacturer benefits from me!

William Shing: Your *other* power?

Stop Stare: Yes Bill?

William Shing: Well excuse me for being a pedant, but I *thought* the scenario involved only one wish.

Stop Stare: One wish, sweetie; two powers.

William Shing: You can't do that!

Stop Stare: If I was to wish for the powers of Superman, that'd be one wish, right?

Stop Stare: But Superman's got super strength *and* he can fly.

Stop Stare: So Chocolate Girl can both make chocolate and eat it!

Texter Triste resists the urge to point out all Superman's *other* powers.

William Shing: *Chocolate Girl*?!

Texter Triste: Does she change into a superhero outfit whenever she has to eat chocolate?

William Shing: You can't compare Superman to someone you just made up!

Stop Stare: Why not?

William Shing: How is the genie supposed to know things about 'Chocolate Girl'?

Texter Triste: Does Chocolate Girl ever team up with Biscuit Boy?

Stop Stare: The genie reads my mind, *obviously*.

William Shing: Genies don't read minds!!

Stop Stare: What, you think that would be hard for a genie?

Soma Supercollider: hahaha

William Shing: Genies *don’t* read minds and they *don’t* look into the future!

Stop Stare: Goddammit, Shing; my genie will do whatever the hell I tell it to do!

Tear Stained: Ok stop! STOP!

Tear Stained: NO MORE TALK ABOUT GENIES!

Tear Stained belts you all round the ear.

Stop Stare looks down at her feet.

Texter Triste whispers, 'she started it'.

William Shing fumes, silently.

Soma Supercollider giggles

Tear Stained: That's better.

Henry Hard: You do realise you won't be able to share any of your chocolate, don't you?

Texter Triste: What if it’s too hot and the chocolate melts?  Is heat like Kryptonite for Chocolate Girl?

*

I hate October.  I just don't get why some people seem to love it so much.  So the leaves fall.  So the wind begins to bite.  October speaks to me: it says, 'summer is gone, and what did you do with it?'  Golden leaves taunt me with memories of the sun I failed to sit under enough.  Red leaves are the wine I never got around to drinking.

It is true that October makes me think of the return of Sunday roasts and the kitchen window steamed up from green vegetables boiling.  I do admit that sometimes I can get taken back at this time of year to all manner of nostalgic TV moments, witnessed lying on my stomach with my chin in my hands and my feet in the air.  The Two Ronnies.  Are You Being Served?  Movies where cars have big, brown steering wheels and some kind of stick at the side that I think has something to do with gear changes.  Columbo.  A flashing cursor that prints up football results.  And pipe smoke hanging in the air above me whilst I watched all these things.  I have no idea why I associate them only with October.  I suppose I'm thankful for their recollection, but I try not to get too distracted by their sweetness.  Nostalgia has a lot to answer for.

Perhaps it's more that summer is a time designed for new experiences; that September, then, is the lingering on of summer excitement – the fading of the sunburn – and October is the inevitable step back into the comfort zone.  The relentless return of all the old rituals: Halloween, Guy Fawkes, Thanksgiving, Christmas...  There's something about this period which seems designed to inhibit any type of newness.  You just do stuff that you've done before, year after year.  Perhaps that's why October triggers the thinking of the old.

I hate October.  I hate autumn.  I hate looking at the crass glare of commercialism reflected in wet streets.  I hate being hot in overcrowded shops, smelling other people's sweat and feeling my own trickling down the small of my back.  Oh yes; I hate walking through leaves.  Most days.

Thank God for the Internet.  Thank God for Second Life.  It's only been a few weeks, but already I'm beginning to wonder how I'll manage without it.

*

Steve Ballmer, CEO of Microsoft, today compared his company to David and Google to Golliath.  In search.  In advertising.  Do I wish we'd started the investment in search a few years earlier? he said.  Yes.  Apparently, then, Microsoft is an underdog.  Exactly when did that happen?

He also called upon the American politicians to make smart choices to help the US economy.  In other words, the $700bn economic rescue plan/Wall Street bail-out, which the Senate vote on later this evening.  I think I see what's going on here.  We're being encouraged to feel sorry for the big boys. 

Thursday, 2 October

Today I turned 36.  I'm now closer to my forties than I am to my twenties.  I'm over half way to being 70.  I hate October.

The event was marked at work with the obligatory card.  This time last year my card had funny jokes from Claire, from Ada, from Lenny.  From Frank.  I still have it pinned to my partition.  It has a black and white photo on the front of a man in a suit hanging from a parachute; the caption underneath reads, 'The Eject key on Phil's keyboard turned out to be real'.  This year, people I don't know have scattered variations on 'Have A Great Day!' over the white interior of a card about lager.  One guy – I think he must have heard me talking about the space shuttle last week – has drawn a picture of R2D2 next to my name.  At least he tried.

It was warm.  I drove back down to Tintagel this afternoon.  It wasn't an impulse thing – it's been in my diary for the last two weeks – but I don't know what I thought I was going to achieve there.  I went to speak to the waitress at the café again, but she was on leave.  I ate sandwiches on the bench before the dip into the Rocky Valley.  They tasted like shit.  It occurs to me that that place is ruined for me now.

If I'd just walked a little further I'd have been able to see Norah's place, up there on the Boscastle road, overlooking the sea.  I spent several minutes looking at the path I could have taken, picturing the place in my mind.  The old stone, yellowed with lichen.  The moss in the cracks between the slate.  It was sunny at that moment, which made it all the more tempting; Norah's house belongs in sunshine.  I remember how the light from outside that place used to find its way into the darkness in thin, dusty shafts.  I remember the way sound inside the building dissolved into nothing, but sound from outside always managed to trickle in somehow.  Those were magical holidays, with Norah herself a figure in a corner always, sitting with her legs wrapped one around the other, watching, laughing; asking us what we thought about stuff.

There's something about Tintagel.  There's something about the cliffs there, there's something about the lay of the land.  There's something about the beaches and the grass in the fields.  I can't quite put my finger on it.  Nobody I've met who understands this – and I've met quite a few of them – is able to place it either.  Perhaps it is just the memories I have of the place; perhaps it's nothing more than that.  Then again, perhaps all the Arthurian stuff has found its way under my skin, just as it's designed to.  Whatever.  I don't feel it now.  I made the mistake today of thinking that more exposure to those favourite places might bring back that sense of special to me.  I was wrong, and I realised just in time.  So I didn't walk up to where I could have seen Norah's house.  The memory of it – and her – is intact, unviolated, and that's how I intend for it to remain.

I logged in as soon as I got back; materialised in my usual spot, in Redclaw.  It was just me and Henry and a guy on the mop spot for a while, and then Stop came inworld, and then a guy called Trumpet, who I've never seen before.  And then Bigboy.  And then Candlewax, who some of us call Candle and some of us call Wax (and who Bigboy calls Ear).  And then Frankiesay.  Bill came on at 8pm exactly, as usual.  Tear came back to the café shortly after that.  Soma at 8:20.  By 8:30 there were three more people I didn't recognise, making it the most crowded I'd ever seen the station – and they were all there in the café.  There was a sudden crackle; the white dots above everyone's heads spewed green momentarily.  And then they all shouted, Happy birthday Texter!  Except Soma, of course.  It was a good attempt at synchronisation, but the inevitable half-second delay here and there induced hysterics.  It was the first time we'd done mass voice in the café, and a good minute of this was pure laughter.  It completely made up for the rubbish card.  Completely.

*

Texter Triste: How did you guys know it was my birthday?

Tear Stained: It was Bill.

Tear Stained: He looked it up on some Star Trek website.

Texter Triste: What?

William Shing: Oh, you remember – the Trek group I got you to sign up for.

William Shing: The one that you've not actually bothered to attend yet?

William Shing: You had to put your date of birth in the application form.

Texter Triste: That stuff goes on a website?

William Shing: It's the group's discussion forum.  You have to have a profile.

Tear Stained: You never go anywhere, Texter; why don't you let us take you out some place to celebrate?  I think you're old enough now, you know.

Texter Triste: You know I like it best here, Tear.

Henry Hard: Hey!  Stop trying to remove my best customer.

Soma Supercollider: Yes.  Why *do* you insist on spending all your time in this filthy little hole, Texter?

Bigboy Anderson: All those in favour of an evening at the Bella Luna say Aye!

Tear Stained: Aye!

Texter Triste shudders at the thought.

Bigboy Anderson: Don't knock it until you've tried it, Tex.

Tear Stained: I could do a private dance for you if you wanted ;)

William Shing: Aren't we supposed to be *encouraging* him?

Tear Stained: William!

Henry Hard: lol

Soma Supercollider: Don't listen to them, Texter; they only want to corrupt you.

Bigboy Anderson: For god's sake, Tex, that's a newbie T-shirt you're still wearing there.

Bigboy Anderson: You have to leave here *sometime*.

Tear Stained: Never mind the T-shirt...

Tear Stained: DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE HAIR!

Texter Triste marvels at how completely the atmosphere has moved on from warmth and love.

Soma Supercollider: Hahaha.

*

The number one hit single on the day of my birth was How can I be Sure? By David Cassidy.  I looked it up today on a site that will also list the number ones on each and every subsequent birthday.  I looked at the list and tried to see if there was a secret message in there to me from the universe.  There doesn't appear to be, but then again, maybe I need to be thinking anagrams...

I'm annoyed I put my date of birth on that notecard.  I don't know what I was thinking.

The Senate passed the bill last night.  They threw in some extra tax cuts.  Now it goes back in front of the House of Representatives, the guys who rejected it on Monday.

Tonight, Sarah Palin and the guy Obama's chosen as his running mate go head to head in televised debate.  I'd watch it if it was on earlier.  I stayed up to watch the first of the Presidential debates last week, but that was on a Friday.  It was dull, but at the same time I couldn't tear myself away.  McCain came across as an emotional old man from an era that should, by rights, have ended.  He did the whole voice wobble thing on emotive subjects, especially on the topic of war veterans.  He told the watching world he'd take care of the vets; in fact, he said that twice.  And he told us he'd looked into the eyes of Vladimir Putin (he looked into the camera as he said this, looking into our eyes) and seen three letters: KGB (Kay!  Gee!  Bee!).  I suppose he thought it some sort of poetry to say something like that.  Or warrior speak.  Or leader talk.  I'd put money on him having practised the delivery of that trio of consonants in front of more than a couple of hotel mirrors.  It chilled me to the core.  I'll never understand how politicians imagine that derogatory comments about another nation's leader in front of an audience of millions will in any way improve things.  Isn't it obvious this is the equivalent of calling an unpopular kid names in order to get more popular with your mates?  Am I the only one who sees these things?

They say we can't possibly go back into another cold war.  And, naturally, what we say to and about each other couldn't possibly have a bearing on that kind of thing.    Big old Russia.  Nasty old big Russia.  Nasty old big and now rich Russia, with its weapons and military and stuff.  I suppose they'll tell us soon we're like David and Russia is Goliath.  Well, we can say that, right?  Why not?  It's only words.  Words can't do anything, can they?

*

William Shing: Are you ever going to attend that Trek group, Texter?

Bigboy Anderson: Star Trek.  Now here's a thing...

Bigboy Anderson: You never get to see what the toilets look like on those spaceships.

William Shing: Toilets?

Tear Stained: Oh don't get him started, Big.

Bigboy Anderson: Well, they've got to have toilets, haven't they?

William Shing: Why?

Texter Triste: Are you telling us the future's invented a cure for bodily functions?

William Shing: Ever heard of teleporters, my friend?

Bigboy Anderson: Teleporters?  What have they got to do with it?

William Shing: Ah the limited vision of within box thinking.

William Shing: You think the transporters can only be used to teleport a whole person, don't you?

Texter Triste digests this.

Texter Triste: Are you suggesting they use transporters to teleport the *crap* out of people?

William Shing: Well, why not?!

Texter Triste: Because that's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.

Bigboy Anderson: Beam my shit up, Scotty!

William Shing: Only because you never thought of it before.

William Shing: When you think about it, it makes complete  sense.

Texter Triste: It makes complete sense to replace perfectly good plumbing with quantum mechanics?

William Shing: The plumbing wouldn't work in zero G anyway!

Bigboy Anderson: Even I know they have artificial gravity.

William Shing: So you're suggesting there is no potential in a totally wireless, pipeless system?

William Shing: You'd rather have tubing running all over the ship?

William Shing: Blockages.

William Shing: Flooding.

William Shing: Sewage, spilling out all over the warp core.

William Shing: You're telling me that's the way it should be in the 24th Century?

Tear Stained sighs.

Texter Triste: Well... When you put it that way...

William Shing: Thankyou.

Bigboy Anderson: I bet the Klingons don't use them.

*

Oh yes, Sir Ian resigned.  He fell out with Boris Johnson.  At a meeting yesterday, the new Mayor made clear [to me], in a very pleasant but determined way, that he wished there to be a change of leadership at the Met.

Friday, 3 October

I logged in to Sarah's account today, just for a few minutes, because Classing's on a long weekend in Wales in places where there is no internet (so he claims).  It has to be done at least a couple of times a week or messages left for her will start getting capped.  Of course, we've unticked all of the friends in her list, so no-one can see when she/we come online.  And we've unchecked the 'show in search'