Up at the crack of dawn (no office jokes please) to watch 2 rubbish teams playing for the last place in the World Cup. Sorry to say, after 20 minutes the Kiwis are rubbish, and it’s looking rather ominous. The Bahrainies on the other hand are already falling over, clutching their calfs, if they think a New Zealander might have looked at them in a cross manner.
It’s going to be a long morning.
Once a week I spend a whole day working from home, doing academic bits and bobs. This can be exceedingly tedious if you don’t have something that keeps you going. Being the old person that I am and having a rather peculiar taste in music, the Revo is playing 100% Generation DiscoFunk all day. Well, the station is French, so they rather pronounce it ‘foenk’, but you get the gist.
Note the kitchen stains. Tss Tss...
Even the driest meta-analyses can be fun if you have a bit of S.O.S. band in the background. And with the Revo it’s not a problem getting the station everywhere in the house (Internet Radio in the bathtub. The ultimate luxury).
The Register is reporting that an ever growing number of users is struggling with Ubuntu 9.10.
Not so here at Fordiebianco central. I installed KK on a freshly wiped Aspire One (the one with 120GB HD and 1Gb ram) and it’s been humming away happily: everything seems to work just fine, including my HSDPA modem dongle, built in wifi, webcam and ethernet. Battery time has improved and the new design looks much more classy then the annoying fruityness of Windows in all its flavours.
I usually do a fresh install when I change OS’s, and as most of my ‘mission critical’ data is lying on various servers around the globe, it’s not so much of a hassle.
So, from us at Messagedfromtheouthouse a happy and hearty ‘thank you’ to Mark Shuttleworth and his mighty team of geeks.
FB
P.S. Evolution is still shit, though.
In the last two months, two pubs have closed literally just around the corner: first my newly discovered favourite, ‘L’Oasis’, now it’s more grubby neighbour, the ‘Old Globe’.
There are few things sadder than the shell of a pub. Sniff.
Messaged from the Outhouse 