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When you are rocking and shushing them to sleep, there is no save game, no checkpoints.  If you make a mistake, you’re going to start the level again — once again with the faces and the crying.

Hope you get it right the first time.

We’re wintering it in York with Chris and Danielle.  It’s actually qute warm up here at the moment… wouldn’t believe it eh?

Hope everyone is enjoying the festive season.  We are.  5.8kg of turkey to eat and there is only 4 of us!

Gotta go…  turkey is calling

At Slanty 1 we use to build our Christmas tree out of Tequila bottles… these guys put a bit more work into theirs but their MOAD probably isn’t as good.

This was written by Kate…

A fable why we should pick up lost keys and not hand them to the authorities (slightly exaggerated).

Walking through Old Headington I found some keys. Keys to a Porsche. I asked around, no one owned them so I took them home to follow it up later. Lonnie then took the keys with him to work and proceeded down the usual paths of enquiry. The police would “add them to the collection under the counter”, take it no further, offer them to anyone who asked and that’s about it! Porsche dealerships were few and far between around Oxford (surprisingly). Dissatisfied with the level of service offered by the Thames Valley Police and Lonnie being the closet private investigator that he is, he took it upon himself to search Old Headington for the Porsche that the keys belonged to. Wandering through the village, surreptitiously pressing the remote at parked cars, gates, garages, over walls and into yards he began to wonder if his act of public service was going to waste. With the last ounce of energy he could muster on that chilly night he walked one last lane of Old Headington where the nicest houses of all are. In the darkness Lonnie began to wonder what would become of the poor Porsche should he not find it

Down a lane behind a stone wall amongst espaliered trees, manicured lawns, aged stonework and 19^th century architecture sat a black Porsche Boxter, abandoned by its owner a day earlier when he returned to London for important medical business. Unknowingly, Lonnie pointed the remote over the wall, pressed the button and whatya know flash-flash of the lights. Lonnie excitedly jumped up and down, did a little dance and said “yippee”.

I’ve already posted about my Xbox Media Center project.  I was trying to make a few changes today.  Maybe it was sleep deprivation, or maybe it was not saying “Klatu verata *cough cough* nik *cough*” just right, but I got to the point where I was getting the following ominous message on bootup.

“Your Xbox requires service.  Please contact Microsoft support”

Ouch.

I was able to recover using the original exploit, but I was actually considering taking the thing apart and hooking the hard drive up to a PC.  But saner minds prevailed after I took a few deep breaths and had breakfast.

But regardless, I think I’ll miss the Irish Heather as well.  Looks like they are moving across the street to a new, more structurally sound building.

I’d probably been down there a couple of times when the cat was away, and even with the cat in tow, it was a good time.  My favorite memory was a group singing a cappella in the conservatory, singing Spirit of the West tunes, with us at the next table.

Hope they manage to keep that spirit in the new building.