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London redux...
May. 19th, 2007 10:04 pmWork today went smoothly, though it would've been even smoother had I been informed of an additional radiogram that arrived after I had started on the ones that had arrived by the time I showed up for work.
After coming home, I started to troubleshoot the water-coming-through-the-ceiling problem that Galina reported to me early during my trip to London. Theoretically, this problem is being caused by the air conditioning unit in the attic, but I've been up there three times so far today, and there is nothing leaking from anywhere.
Having spent some time up there, however, I have my suspicions, and they point squarely either a roof penetration (there's a vent of some kind up there that seems damaged, though I can't see daylight through it), or water leaking out of an air duct (where it shouldn't be in the first place). I am tempted to set up my wireless webcam up there, except that it gets pretty hot up there, and I have really no good idea of where to point it.
I've traced out my little promenade through London of the other day and uploaded it, along with a bunch of other photos, to my Flickr account. Here's a thumbnail:
None of the shots are particularly creative (indeed, my image of St. Stephen's Tower Clock - aka 'Big Ben' - likely apes tens of thousands of various postcards of the same view), but there is a certain something to being able to say the image is your own.
In terms of general impressions, mine fall short of breathtaking. When I took the aluminum can and plastic glass from my drink with me from the Gatwick Express (not wanting to leave it on the train), I didn't realize that finding a trash bin in a public place was going to be so difficult. I saw no such bins anywhere (not even near food vendors), though I did see trash left discreetly in various nooks and corners around Victoria Station. I finally disposed of my load in a plastic bag that was hanging next to one of the peddlers on the floor of the station (when said peddler wasn't looking, I must admit).
It was marginally informative to note that what drives the news in the UK is pretty much what drives the news at home, i.e., sensationalism. The big story in the tabloids and on the tube had to do with the case of a little girl who has gone missing in Portugal, in which the prime suspect just happens to be... a translator (Police seize translator's computer! read the headline in one paper). It's not as if I haven't any empathy for the plight of the parents, because I do. It's just that all the coverage is "very Anna-Nicole," if you get my drift.
There are tons of shops in which one can buy a mobile phone, just as I observed in Russia. Without my BlackBerry I felt pretty naked; without my email and Web access, I felt naked and disoriented. There are internet cafés here and there, once you get away from hotels and airports, and the rates aren't entirely out of line the way they are in said hotels and airports. And coffee shops - à la Starbucks - are sprouting up like mushrooms.
The first morning of my assignment, I ran across a fellow in the Renaissance lobby who might look at home astride a Harley. The fact he was rolling cigarettes did not detract from that image. He was doing so because he had smoked his way through the butts he had brought with him and was not prepared to shell out $100 for a carton of smokes. He also complained about paying $40 for a bottle of Jack Daniels. It turned out he was a helicopter mechanic from the States who was approaching the end of a month-long training course.
Neither he nor his buddy, who joined us shortly after I sat down, could make peace with the surveillance state emerging in the UK. Everywhere you go, there are signs informing you that CCTV cameras are in use. And their use seems coordinated: get thrown out of a pub for being rowdy and the other pubs in the area won't let you in the door.
The one time I paid attention to the price of gasoline, it was about 95p per liter, which works out to very close to $8 per gallon. Between this, that, and the other thing, I wonder just what proportion of prices are influenced/dictated by government policy (as in the $10 pack of cigarettes).
I should probably get some sleep in preparation for tomorrow's assignment. I note that I have the same assignment on Monday through Wednesday (although the work load during those days will be stiffer). I am beginning to feel the warm, sickening glow of burnout, however, so between the air conditioner upstairs and the car that's in the shop (the transmission was channeling Spike Jones playing William Tell), I think I'm going to get some sleep.
Cheers...
After coming home, I started to troubleshoot the water-coming-through-the-ceiling problem that Galina reported to me early during my trip to London. Theoretically, this problem is being caused by the air conditioning unit in the attic, but I've been up there three times so far today, and there is nothing leaking from anywhere.
Having spent some time up there, however, I have my suspicions, and they point squarely either a roof penetration (there's a vent of some kind up there that seems damaged, though I can't see daylight through it), or water leaking out of an air duct (where it shouldn't be in the first place). I am tempted to set up my wireless webcam up there, except that it gets pretty hot up there, and I have really no good idea of where to point it.
I've traced out my little promenade through London of the other day and uploaded it, along with a bunch of other photos, to my Flickr account. Here's a thumbnail:
None of the shots are particularly creative (indeed, my image of St. Stephen's Tower Clock - aka 'Big Ben' - likely apes tens of thousands of various postcards of the same view), but there is a certain something to being able to say the image is your own.
In terms of general impressions, mine fall short of breathtaking. When I took the aluminum can and plastic glass from my drink with me from the Gatwick Express (not wanting to leave it on the train), I didn't realize that finding a trash bin in a public place was going to be so difficult. I saw no such bins anywhere (not even near food vendors), though I did see trash left discreetly in various nooks and corners around Victoria Station. I finally disposed of my load in a plastic bag that was hanging next to one of the peddlers on the floor of the station (when said peddler wasn't looking, I must admit).
It was marginally informative to note that what drives the news in the UK is pretty much what drives the news at home, i.e., sensationalism. The big story in the tabloids and on the tube had to do with the case of a little girl who has gone missing in Portugal, in which the prime suspect just happens to be... a translator (Police seize translator's computer! read the headline in one paper). It's not as if I haven't any empathy for the plight of the parents, because I do. It's just that all the coverage is "very Anna-Nicole," if you get my drift.
There are tons of shops in which one can buy a mobile phone, just as I observed in Russia. Without my BlackBerry I felt pretty naked; without my email and Web access, I felt naked and disoriented. There are internet cafés here and there, once you get away from hotels and airports, and the rates aren't entirely out of line the way they are in said hotels and airports. And coffee shops - à la Starbucks - are sprouting up like mushrooms.
The first morning of my assignment, I ran across a fellow in the Renaissance lobby who might look at home astride a Harley. The fact he was rolling cigarettes did not detract from that image. He was doing so because he had smoked his way through the butts he had brought with him and was not prepared to shell out $100 for a carton of smokes. He also complained about paying $40 for a bottle of Jack Daniels. It turned out he was a helicopter mechanic from the States who was approaching the end of a month-long training course.
Neither he nor his buddy, who joined us shortly after I sat down, could make peace with the surveillance state emerging in the UK. Everywhere you go, there are signs informing you that CCTV cameras are in use. And their use seems coordinated: get thrown out of a pub for being rowdy and the other pubs in the area won't let you in the door.
The one time I paid attention to the price of gasoline, it was about 95p per liter, which works out to very close to $8 per gallon. Between this, that, and the other thing, I wonder just what proportion of prices are influenced/dictated by government policy (as in the $10 pack of cigarettes).
I should probably get some sleep in preparation for tomorrow's assignment. I note that I have the same assignment on Monday through Wednesday (although the work load during those days will be stiffer). I am beginning to feel the warm, sickening glow of burnout, however, so between the air conditioner upstairs and the car that's in the shop (the transmission was channeling Spike Jones playing William Tell), I think I'm going to get some sleep.
Cheers...
