Last night, I flew to Stockholm airport. I stayed overnight in a hotel at the airport.
Today I went to a meeting in a conference centre at Stockholm airport. I talked, listened, answered a few questions and asked a few questions.
Then I flew home from Stockholm airport.
18 hours in Stockholm and I never left the airport complex. Weird.
This may be contrary to corporate blogging guidelines but still...
Just had the formal feedback from my annual review and it is excellent news.
Seeboard - monthly bill down to £38 (down from £60) per month.
The Killers (Glastonbury 2005) has successfully been converted from DVD to WAV format and to ATRAC format on a CD.
Thanks to two excellent software tools: MediaCoder (DVD to MP3 converter) and Audacity.
Yes. It is an 0800 number which is free. However, there is a charge of 10p per minute
Newcastle Hilton Hotel.
A couple of years ago, I was working in Amsterdam (near Holland) chasing world records for loading lots of data into a Siebel database.
It wasnt working very well. The client was unhappy so long hours were called for.
The Unix team said the expensive SAN was performing optimally.
The DBA team said Oracle was performing optimally.
The Siebel team said Siebel was performing optimally.
Alex Ferguson unexpectedly joined a conference call and said the Manchester United team were performing optimally.
The truth was that nothing was performing optimally. We could have loaded data quicker by typing it in.
So, we were all scratching our heads, dying to get into Amsterdam, and yawning at 23.47 one night when a gentleman appeared with a bottle of red wine.
'Has anyone got a corkscrew ?'
Well it made a pleasant change from 'Is it finished yet ?'
'No'
'Oh. It's my birthday today and I'd like to share this bottle of wine with the team.'
Purely, in the interests of team morale, I took a decisive step forward.
'Just get a biro and sink the cork into the bottle. Then we can all have a quick drink and watch glance and OEM for another 3 hours.'
'Sorry. I do not understand what you are meaning.'
'OK. Just give me the bottle.'
I grabbed a biro, plunged it into the cork and pushed. Nothing happened. I pushed harder. People (including managers) were now looking at me, exchanging knowing glances (Mad Englishman). Nothing happened.
So, I pushed even harder. Nothing happened. I put the bottle between my knees and pushed even harder. Finally, the biro plunged into the cork and the cork consequently plunged into the bottle.
However the impact was slightly more forceful than I intended and I was sprayed with a fountain of red wine. My pristine white shirt only accentuated the visual impact.
I paused and gathered myself. Red wine was splattered all over my shirt. I looked a complete mess. People were sniggering which quickly developed into hysterical laughter.
I proffered the 3/4 full bottle of red wine, to the birthday boy, expecting some gratitude.
'Thanks. Have you got any cups ?'
So, instead of being known as 'that Siebel guy who helped us load 84 million records in 23 hours with error checking and reconciliation', I was forever labelled as 'the axe murderer'.
I was at my desk at 09.05 this Monday morning. Nothing extraordinary there but considering I live in South West London and this particular desk was in Newcastle, this represented quite an achievement.
And this prompt start was only possible due to a considerate, thoughtful taxi driver.
I ordered a taxi at 05.45 on Monday morning. I slept downstairs on the sofa bed to avoid disturbing the household at that unearthly hour.
I got up at 05.30. The taxi driver rings my doorbell at 05.35. The following conversation ensues in hushed whispers. Thankfully, for his sake, it is quite hard to get really angry in a hushed whisper.
'What time is the pickup ?' '5.45'
'What time is it now ?' '5.35'
'Why have you rung the doorbell ?'
'To let you know I am here'
'Why have you just woken my wife and children up at half five
in the morning ?'
'Oh. Sorry'
And with that, he returned to wait in the taxi and any hope of a (paltry) tip disappeared into the chilly morning air.
I was interested to read that David Beckham suffers from OCD and simply can not abide an odd number of ~~lines~~ cans of coke in his fridge
I have a similar obsession about cans of Grolsch in my fridge. 0, 2, 4, 8 but never 1, 3, 5, 6 or 7. If we ever get an odd number, I simply ~~drink 'em~~ scold the offenders soundly and banish them to the cupboard (where odd numbers only are allowed).
Similarly, rounds in the pub simply must be equalized by close of drinking otherwise I come out in an angry, red rash.
I also must practice free kicks and penalties for 7 hours a day until I actually score one before I go home for my tea. So when England exit the World Cup on penalties in the quarter finals (again), it certainly won't be my fault.
If the hoovering is not done, then I immediately summon my army of maids to do it before I can even contemplate sitting down for my tea with Posh and the kids.
Now, did I put the gerbils out ?
Lee Trundles smile after Swanseas victory (in the Sunday Pub League Final played at, of all places, Cardiff) couldnt be any wider without fracturing his jaw. But what I love about this story most is the following statement by Swansea FC's chairman, Huw Jenkins:
'Maybe it was a heat-of-the-moment thing'
Possibly, but given Lee Trundle had gone to the trouble of getting a T-shirt printed with a cartoon depicting a person urinating over a Cardiff shirt, that seems a little unlikely.
On the return flight from Newcastle to Heathrow, I was sitting behind a family who were lucky enough to be going to Sydney, Australia for a holiday. I was immediately behind two young lads (8 and 6). Obviously both were very excited at flying for the first time.
They were excited when we pushed back, they were nervous when we accelerated down the runway and they were delirious when we left the ground.
The lads were absolutely amazed when they could see the houses, rivers, mountains, railway tracks and motorways from 20,000 feet. Forty five minutes later, as we descended below the cloud base, the two boys took in the sights of London. The excitement of the youngest lad now reached fever pitch.
'Look Paul, Big Ben. Paul. Look there is Big Ben'
I glanced across. I couldn't see Big Ben but I could see a church in Richmond.
'DAD LOOK THERE IS WEMBLEY STADIUM. LOOK DAD ! WEMBLEY STADIUM'
I glanced across. I couldn't see Wembley Stadium but I could see Twickenham. Gear down. Airport complex in sight.
** 'MUM, DAD, PAUL. LOOK ! LOOK ! THERE IS SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE. SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE. LOOK !' **
I glanced across. The little boy was right. Off to the right - Sydney Opera House.