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Bob SimmsJust visiting this planet January 29 Shh! Secret SquirrelFor once, I managed to blag a seat on the train this morning. Two gents seated opposite were talking shop. They worked, it seemed, for a company that is contracted to several government agencies, like the CPS. They were discussing the recent news item about a laptop that had condfidential information on service personnel which was stolen from someone's car. The conversation moved on to GCHQ, apparantly a customer of their company. For those of you that don't know, GCHQ is the listening post for Britain's intelligence services. These two IT guys discussed on a crowded commuter train the new policies for laptops, and the encryption policies (including the encryption technologies they were using) that GCHQ and the CPS now have. They were even discussing the various ways that the encryption software could be distributed.
Isn't it reassuring that the safety of our country is in such secure hands? Wazzocks! January 24 10 year swagI passed the 10 year marker as a Microsoft Certified Trainer in 2006. Last night I received my 10-year MCT pack (no, don't start, it's nice for them to give me something at all). As you may know, I love swag. I am extremely cheap, ask anyone.
So it does seem a little churlish (have you ever seen a little churl?) to complain. But the MCT-engraved travel adaptor allows me to plug American plugs into UK sockets, but not the other way around. The most exciting gizmo is a remote-control mouse pointer for Powerpoint. I've tried it on two machines so far, and it doesn't work. I daren't try the USB battery charger.
The laptop bag is great, though. And you know, I lurve laptop bags. January 17 Night of the living deadBrussels – 17/01/08 08:30
Yesterday we attended the final wrap up at 3 pm, then we all dissipated. I sat in the foyer, nursing a cup of Earl Grey and people-watching. Slick Rick passed, carrying a stack of Star Wars toys, looking like a kid that had died and gone to toyshop heaven.
A couple of MCTs stopped to chat, to say goodbye or to introduce themselves. Yolanda, sober and remarkably alert (seeing as she had, it was rumoured, not actually gone to bed that night), renewed her invite. Dimitry gave me an impromptu Russian lesson and invited me to Leningrad.
But where was Claudia? She and I were catching the same sleeper from Berlin to Brussels. Was she avoiding me? Did she hope to sneak off by herself?
Of course not. She was talking. Now, as a trainer, I could talk for my county, but Claudia is at international level.
Finally she appeared, and we made our way to the station. But, ach du lieber zeit, we had several hours to kill. What were we to do?
We found a bar. Oh, come on, dear reader. Surely this comes as no surprise to you?
They sold fruit beer, a new concept for Claudia, a tradition in Germany. “Could we sample them all in small glasses?” asked Claudia. Of course we could.
The waitress returned with the longest, narrowest wooden tray I have ever seen. It was, in fact, a floorboard. On it were balanced eight 20 cl glasses of fruit beer. For the metrically challenged, a can of coke is usually 33 cl. “I thought you said they were small glasses!” exclaimed our heroine.
“These are small glasses,” was the reply.
As Claudia neared the end of the beer (okay, maybe I helped her a little) we ate and chatted. At one point I was aware of raised voices behind me. Someone was arguing with the waitress in accented English, but I wasn’t listening, enraptured as always by the vision I was sharing a meal with.
“Excuse me, Miss, are you American?” Oh no, we were going to be dragged into a domestic dispute. “Do you have phone books in America?”
“Yes.”
“They don’t have a phone book here. Can you believe such a thing?”
And for five minutes we were treated to a tirade about the lack of phone books in Berlin, until Claudia found herself apologising for it over and over. They left and we couldn’t hold it in any longer. Even the barman was smiling through his phonebook poverty.
Afterwards we asked for a bill (and a phone book) and made our way to the platform, amazed at where the hours had gone.
Claudia and I were sharing the same carriage, but we had bunks in different compartments. There was bedlam as people (six to a tiny compartment) stowed luggage, made beds and got in each other’s way. Claudia ordered me to help a young east-European woman with two small children and a suitcase so big and heavy a camel would have objected.
I misread her ticket and dragged the case and the family into the wrong carriage. By the time we located her compartment, it was blocked by plain-clothed police. We all gathered in the corridor as they tore up pillows, took photos and eventually lead a young girl away in handcuffs. This was exciting stuff. You don’t get this sort of thing on Easyjet.
Amongst the audience was a Parisian man who chatted with us (no-one can remain within ten feet of Claudia and not be roped into a conversation with her). It appeared that the young girl had been snorting coke in the carriage. The train terminated in Paris, but we were getting off in Brussels. Claudia speculated on the possibility of ‘accidentally’ staying on the train to Paris, a thought that was to return and haunt me later.
I was beat, so I wished her goodnight and folded myself into my middle-tier coffin.
I slept fitfully until about 04:30. At 05:20 I gave up, fumbled my case from under the bed of a young American girl on the bottom bunk and made my way to the bathroom. There I changed. Have you seen the contortionist act where a woman folds herself into a tiny Perspex box? That was a bit like this. I had maybe 10 centimetres room either side of my shoulders. Changing socks was the worst, unable to reach my feet without a complicated manoeuvre that at one point had me wedged in one corner with my knee under my chin.
Suitably refreshed I waited in the corridor as the conductor woke those that were due to get off at Brussels. Slowly the corridor filled: a group of young American girls doing the tour; a business man in a suit; a variety of people all different, but united in their total lack of similarity to Claudia.
Brussels North came and went. Brussels Midi (our destination) would be minutes away, and still no Claudia! Her compartment, unlike mine, was a four-berth. I trod the corridor trying to spot the compartments that had been configured for four, without trying to look like a pervert. I found one, stuck my head into the darkness and called her name softly. Silence was the stern reply.
Brussels Midi hove into view. This was getting serious. As a gentleman, I should remain on the train if she didn’t show, so that she would not awake alone and afraid in a foreign city. On the other hand, if I ended up going to Paris with Claudia, Er Indoors would kill me.
I waited until the corridor had emptied then walked the length of the carriage, calling out her name. A light came on in one of the compartments. I opened the door to see the rear view of Claudia climbing out of the bunk.
“Have you only just got up?”
An undecipherable grunt.
“This is our stop. We have to get off.”
Grunt.
“I’ll stand on the platform and keep the doors open.”
I did so. A minute later Claudia arrived. She had her bags in one hand, her shoes in the other, her eyes screwed up against the light. As she stood in her socks on the platform her eyes focused a couple of metres behind me.
There are some things a woman should only let a man see after they are married. Claudia’s enactment from Night of the Living Dead is definitely one of them.
Half an hour later, with some slap on and a coffee in her hands, she started to become the bubbly Claudia we know and love. ‘Bubbly’, you understand, in the sense of a can of cola that has been shaken for a minute then the ring pulled. Claudia normally erupts into a room, and she can be firm friends with people within seconds. You get the impression that even the woman that serves her behind the shop counter is only a moment away from inviting her round for dinner.
But after all the attempts by her to get me into trouble at the summit, I have absolutely no compunction in publishing her discomfort here. Revenge is sweet, my little piranha. January 16 Swag!We love it! It's what we come for.
I mentioned to Dandy after this morning's session that he had a minor typo in his slide. He looked at my name badge and promptly handed over a portable 250GB hard drive. I'd won it for making comments a week or so ago, and I had entirely forgotten about it. How cool is that? I'm going to be hyper for weeks yet.
The tally so far:
A fleece
A T-shirt
An eval copy of Home Server
A Zune
A hard drive.
There are rumours of a laptop bag later today.
But of course, the real wealth is all the new friends I have made here.
(Actually, it's the swag, but don't tell anyone) Berlin, stillBerlin 16/01/08 – 11:45
Wow, what a long couple of days it’s been. Yesterday I got to sit in on a load of technical presentations. Lots of cool stuff coming in SQL. I sound like a 12-year-old geek, don’t I?
Lunch was nice in the atrium, then more presentations. People here are just so friendly, and they laugh at my jokes. Well, be fair, they haven’t heard them before.
Then we went on an evening bus tour of Berlin. Ruth and Claudia kept our section of the bus entertained. To be honest, we couldn’t see much from the bus, but we did get out at the Brandenburg Gate. It is huge, much bigger than I imagined. And Checkpoint Charlie, which was fun.
Then back for dinner, laid out in a magnificent hall. The various rah-rah's from the organisers and sponsors, and then I got my zune! Double Yay! Finally. I had to pretend to like Rick all day until I got the zune in my hands.
The girls on the table thought it much smaller than they imagined. Don’t they know that size doesn’t matter?
The entertainment for the night was a looky-likey. Actually, not so much. A Sting impersonator didn’t look much like him, but sung well enough. Then the most bizarre Tom Jones impersonator ever. I think it was Tom’s dad. He looked and sounded nothing like him, but he had a curly wig on, so that was OK.
Oddly, we failed to drink the budget dry. Equally oddly, I ended up on the girly table again. Jolander invited me up to her room. I was slightly disappointed to discover she also invited about a dozen others as well, but we all put the world to rights, as drunks the world over do in the small hours of the morning. I have an invite to contact her next month when I’m in Amsterdam. I hope she remembers me.
I hit my bed about 2:00 this morning, wishing I had once more re-written my presentation for Richard Klees.
This morning I staggered down to breakfast, then went over my presentation over and over again. Then four of us made the long walk down the green mile. In the event, it was fun. What doesn’t kill us, and all that. January 15 Berlin 3Berlin 00:45 14/01/08
I negotiated Berlin’s commuter rail system with hardly a mishap. Well, maybe one, but it was minor. Okay, so I got on the wrong train at Ostkreutz, but I doubled back okay and found myself at Sondallee. The hotel was visible from the platform, a huge glass and concrete affair.
I got into the hotel about 09:15, and to my surprise they were quite happy to let me check in to my room. They even gave me a complementary razor and toothbrush to make up for those I had forgotten.
The continental plug I had brought with me was for some other continent, I think. I had to get another adaptor from the foyer shop. Twenty-five Euros!
The rest of the morning was spent sitting in a chair in the foyer, trying to look as though I enjoyed my own company. Fortunately I was waylaid by Claudia, an old sparring partner from the newsgroups, and someone I had once spent an expensive Easter Sunday with. She kept me entertained until noon, at which time we made our way to registration.
The girls on registration couldn’t find my badge. Their manager looked me up on the system, and informed me I had been cancelled for non-payment. What? All this excitement, all this panic, not to be let in? I had spent nearly four hours in Brussels, for crying out loud. But the very nice woman in charge let me in, and after I had dug up the email authorising my passage, all was well.
The rest of the afternoon was spent on geeky Micrososft stuff. The highlight of which was Richard Klees speech on what was good and what was bad in presentations. Oh crap! I’m going to have to rewrite my presentation to him from scratch.
Afterwards I rushed to my room and my prepared presentation, then off to the buffet and beer reception. I tried to keep my alcohol consumption to a minimum, but the bar closed well before nine, the budget met.
Somehow I found myself at the girly table, which spilled over into the bar as we were shepherded away from the buffet area. The girly table was joined by a bunch of Swedes. Now, me and Swedes have a history. At least, I’m told we have a history. To be honest, on the various occasions I have drunk with Nordics, I can’t remember much about it. Other tables kept looking at our area as the screams and shouting became more raucous. I have to say, it was not the men making all the noise. I was in heaven, girls either side of me, slapping me every time I made a witty and erudite comment. And it’s odd, the more I drink, the more erudite and funny I become. I had to leave in the end, as my wallet was empty and my body was covered in bruises. Bring on tomorrow! Berlin2Monday 14/01/08 – 07:45 – Near Berlin
Brussels was a dismal station to be marooned in. All the cafes closed at 21:00. At 21:30 I found a waiting room that was out of the way of the wind and the beggars. At 21:50 we were turned out and it was locked up. At 23:00 I made my way up to the platform, a dreary grey concrete affair with no shelter from the wind. I was not sorry to see the train pull in at 23:40.
I found my couchette easily enough. It was a six-berth, though only four had been made up. I had told my darling wife that of course the carriages were segregated, but in the event I was to share the cabin with two others, a young man who had obviously travelled couchette before, and a middle-aged woman. We followed the young man’s lead and made up our bunks and wordlessly tried to sleep.
My head brushed one wall, while the balls of my feet rested on the window. The ceiling was a couple of feet above me. Anyone who has a fear of being buried alive should reconsider if couchettes are the way for them.
The carriage was like an oven. I sweated through the journey, and awoke at 05:30 dry-mouthed and stuffy. I had slept, if fitfully.
The first stop in Berlin is Spandau. I know I should be thinking of the cold war and the imprisoned Nazi war criminals, but all I can think of is Spandau Ballet. There goes my street cred. Berlin 1Brussels – 20:30 – 13/01/08 I don’t know why I get so jittery, but as soon as I have to prepare something on which I’m going to be assessed, I become a bag of nerves. Late Friday night I learnt I had to prepare a five minute presentation on a business subject of my choice, to be delivered on Wednesday at the Microsoft Certified Trainers Summit in Berlin. The assessor was to be Richard Klees. He teaches presentation skills to people like Bill Gates. He is, apparently, da bomb. By one that morning I had the bones of it. Sunday it was polish, polish, polish, but it’s still dull. I hate these things, but it’ll help me grow (I keep telling myself). After lunch I was a bag of nerves, the panic combining with the excitement of meeting people I’ve only known over the Internet and the thrill I still get with international travel. Despite Ebbsfleet International being less than 10 miles away, The Missus was unwilling to drive somewhere new like that, so it’s public transport for me. The good thing is that with my Eurostar ticket, travel on the trains and busses is free. She dropped me off at Chatham station in time for the 15:22. As I waited for the train I realised I had no idea where I was going in Berlin. All my carefully researched printouts were still sitting at home. Ebbsfleet was virtually deserted, and so the staff were plentiful and helpful, even smiling indulgently at my jokes. While waiting for the train (as usual, I was an hour early) I phoned Er Indoors and got Her to read out my Berlin travel plans. Sorted. It was only when I was comfortably ensconced in my Eurostar seat I realised I had left all my toiletries ready in the bathroom. Not much help Her reading those out to me. Oh well. At least I remembered my medication (excuse me while I make a panicky check). Yep, all okay. I arrived at Brussels about 20:00. My train leaves for Berlin at 23:41. I had a brief look outside the station. It looks to be all concrete and drunks. What on earth am I going to do for three hours? I found a burger bar for a cheap dinner. It’s always odd on the continent to find burger bars serve beer. My chilli burger (in a baguette) and chips (the Belgians claim to have invented them, but we all know they’re as English as St George) (Yes, I know technically St George was Turkish, but he was English at heart) (Look, stop picking holes. Whose blog is it anyway?) are gone, it’s only 21:00 and it’s pigging cold outside. Maybe I could have just one more polish …. January 13 Rockin the worldBinge on Celery played their debut gig last night, hitting the stage as the first of 4 bands. They played their own compositions and were arguably the best band of the night (said the father of the drummer). Jonny Stix still hasn't come down off the ceiling, and the venue has booked them for another gig in May. The £30 they shared makes them professionals now. Still waiting for my roadie wages though.
January 12 Berlin MondayTraining is a funny old business. We are all show-offs, eschewing real work for the razzamatazz of performing in front of a class. Techies are by nature keen to share their knowledge. Combine that with an ego the size of a country and you’d normally not want more than one IT trainer in any gathering.
So you’d expect three hundred trainers crammed together to be hell on earth, with fights breaking out as we all vie to be the centre of attention, but I’m looking forward to the Microsoft Certified Trainer Summit in Berlin. I have many e-friends in the MCT community that I’ve sparred with in the newsgroups and chatted with via MSN. It will be fun to see what they’ll be like in the real world. ‘Fun’, you understand, being a relative term. I’ve only ever met half a dozen of them of them, and their friendship and generosity have been welcome, especially when I’ve been on the road.
I’m a little apprehensive as to what they’ll make of me, though. It’s easy to be witty on a newsgroup where you’ve a day or two to formulate your off-the-cuff riposte. I hope I don’t disappoint in the flesh.
As well as train-the-trainer type sessions there will be lots of previews of upcoming technology. My interests will be SQL and Visual Studio, but 2008 looks like being a busy year all round for Microsoft watchers, with major releases raining down on us. So I’m going to be busy, busy, busy, and not carousing the night away with new friends. No, that’ll be someone else that just happens to look a lot like me.
The lucky git! November 21 Binge on CeleryNumber two sprog is in a band with a couple of his mates. They call themselves Binge on Celery. Here's their website: Binge on Celery
They took it on themselves to book a recording studio, which takes some cahonas from a bunch of 14 and 15 year olds. They recorded 5 tracks at Holland Road Studios, in Maidstone.
The guy that runs it impressed me. He was really into it, helping the kids, mastering and mixing their tracks, the works. Over 7 hours of work, and he didn't charge them full wack. The other week, when we dropped off the last of #1's pocket money, he said he wanted to attend their first gig. What a thoroughly nice chap.
Anyway, #1 tells me they're grunge rock. It's not my cup of tea, being more of a Lynsey de Paul man, but it sounds really professional. Skip over to their web site and have a listen. November 06 I'm going to BerlinI'm goin' ... to Berlin
I'm goin' ... to Berlin
(Doing the happy dance)
I put my name forward for the MCT Summit in Berlin in January. Last year I tried, but none of the technical content was developer-based. I do think sometimes that the MCT programme, and MSL in general, is biased against the developer. For a while they referred to OS people as 'professionals', as though developers weren't professionals. But anyway, water under the bridge. This year there is a good mix.
So, I put my name forward, and then started working on Xpertise management. And, bless their cotton socks, they approved. So I'm off on my first Microsoft junket, and my first networking opportunity with MCT's. I know so many trainers from the newsgroups, but sadly have met only a handful in real life. Without exception, the trainers I've met have been fun company, and not at all sad nerds. My fear is that I will be a dissapointment. It's easy to be witty on a newsgroup, when you can spend a day or so thinking up your spontaneous reply. It's different in real life, especially as trainers tend to demand the centre of attentions anyway. I shall just have to hope that my ripped bod and dashing good looks will win the day.
So, in January...
I'm goin ... to Berlin
(Happy dance again) November 04 The story so farThe story so far ... Open-cast pit carved between my ribs now healed (wince, grimace, no, It's nothing, I'll struggle on). Shoulder still a tad stiff, but almost better now. Bike written off, money going towards train fares (I'm too old to bounce). Okay, the recent news: Last Monday I bought a bike. No, not another motor bike, the Missus would have a fit. Instead I bought a pedal bike from Cycle King. Since my unfortunate close up of the A2 I have been catching the train into London. Chatham station is a couple of miles from my house, which meant a half hour vigourous walk each way. Now I can cycle. We went to Halfords first, but they couldn't be bothered to serve us. Unlike the excellent staff at Cycle King, who talked through my needs and recomended the bike best suited to my needs. They even customized the grips to suit my large hands (steady, girls) and replaced the quick-release saddle with a bolt-on one (It'll be nicked from Chatham station, otherwise, you mark my words). So last Monday I cycled to the station. Fantastic! A half-hour walk now is hardly more than five minutes. This is mainly because I live on top of the North Downs, and the railway is at the bottom. Bloody hell, the journey back, though! True, it's reduced to twenty minutes, depending on the number of strokes I have on the journey, but I am soaked in sweat by the end. Five baths in a week! Can you believe it? To add insult, I didn't lose any weight this week either (my maybe-it's-diabetes diagnosis diet so far having lost me a stone and a half). But the bike is back in the shp for a quick service as the gears bed in and other technical stuff. Meanwhile I am on site in Hemel Hempstead for two weeks. No restaurant open tonight, but they have free wireless. Yes, I have my priorites sorted, thank you. September 19 Back to workOn Monday I started back to work. Fitz, bless his cotton socks, scheduled me two two-day courses, giving me Wednesday to study from home and go to the wounds clinic. Damn but it's hard. Each evening I come home on the train, my chest and back clenched and knotted with the strain. Still, the pain is better than daytime TV. September 14 FridayOops! You'd think that after 27 years of marriage I'd have picked up some instinct ofr impending doom. But I was completely unprepared when Er Indoors happened to mention that yesterday was Her birthday. In my defence, it's the first one I had forgotten, and I have been preoccupied the last few days. But that is no excuse. Bad Bob!
This morning I went down to the wounds clinic to have my stitches removed. I braced myself and prepared to be brave, but in truth I felt absolutely nothing. I had to ask the nurse if she had started. In fact, she had finished. The hole in my ribs hasn't healed. In fact, they were so fascinated by the hole they took a photo of it. I have some silver-impregnated gauze stuffed in it, and covered with a non-allergenic dressing. I have to go back on Wednesday to make sure it hasn't rotted my chest off.
When I got back the Missus told me the recovery firm had written off my bike. I had to drive and hour and a half to the garage to pick up my personal effects before the scrap merchant took the bike away.
This evening, as a penance, we went to the Tandor Mahal, an excellent Indian restaurant I first ate at over thirty-five years ago. |
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