jackdalton

Maybe it's just me...

... but I'd have to say I found this absolutely fascinating. And it got me wondering about how many 20sixers actually have avatars in some virtual world or another. And what it would be like to go use one for a kind of virtual meet-up.


Perhaps we could get together and kick a dragon or repel an Elite landfall. Or whatever it is they do there....  

It seems that...

... Quips has left us. A pity. But there you have it.


Perhaps 20six is becoming a place where too many worlds collide. Where the dress code gets in the way of the event.


Or perhaps I have come finally to Isidora.

Finally,...

... Il Cucchiaio d'Argento is coming. In English. Anyone for a bit of Veal roulade in aspic?


 

I came here to do something...

... straightforward involving an RSS feed from Outside. But I got distracted.


Had a look at a few comments.  Noticed that Locotes is slowly returning to form; HJB is sharp as ever. Pog and I passed like ships in the midnight hours. Kate & Menace are deep into the exclusionary silences of parenting. Underbrella is confirmed in my view as a key observer of the human condition.  'waf is doing wonders in terms of holding together.  I doubt I could if I were in her shoes. The New Kid has stopped blogging - probably because of exhaustion. And there is a strange sense of endings in a lot of what I'm reading. Whether because of their writing or my reading, I can't really say.fficeffice" />


Petit is as self-centred as ever. But her posts are lovely. Dervala is a blog goddess. Jet - not her real name - is giving up on Christmas. Fistful is thinking about ffice:smarttags" />Paris burning. Elodie makes me smile.


And here on the Dublin fringes it is most definitely November. Leaves have filled the driveway and turning to mulch in the heavy rains of the past two days. Max has taken to the shed at the foot of the garden. We have had no walk since Tuesday.


There are conferences upcoming in Florence, Paris and Brussels.  The confirmation invite from the last of these was written in Irish. Naturally, I'm intrigued to meet the sender. But that will be for December…


And of course I have no idea at all of where I saw the RSS entry that brought me here in the first place.


Strange how....

... weeks and months meld one into another, and suddenly in a cinnamon moment - with sunlight on leaves and the sky an everblue -  you find yourself once again at an autumn window. Wondering at it all. And about brevity, longevity and the reenvisioned world.


 


And yes, I had noticed


 

In a moment of enthusiasm...

... about a year or so ago, I started another blog. It was one of those little digital madnesses - you know the sort of thing: would anyone notice, would it actually attract a few readers this time... And surprisingly it was all rather a good experience.


Lately I went back to do a bit of tidying-out.  The blogworld equivalent of carboot sale thinking. But I couldn't get in. Password after password, variation after variation. Couldn't even have a reminder mailed to me because I can't recall which bar-fly, of-the-moment email address I used to register the thing.


So. There it stands. Alone, unattended and adrift in hyperspace.  One of those millions of digital aspirations now forever frozen in aspic.  The kind of thing that attracts the scorn of good- livin', church-goin' netizens who always clear their own tables in the motorway service stations of the heart when out and about on the information superhighway. Bugger.


Meanwhile, back in RyanEire; Seamus Kearney is to head the Mansfield Group and Dempsey is fighting the good fight on behalf of profit loving shareholders everywhere.

yeah, yeah...

... I know you've probably heard it before, and I know there are more technically perfect broadcasts in the series.


But for me, this  letter from 1996 will always be a defining moment in radiojournalism.

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