The Bastard Operator from Hell (a.k.a. BOFH): Tales from your friendly Sys Admin that go back to 1995 (!)

There’s something ethereal about a low, thick fog that somehow leaves the night sky mostly clear. The halos of the street lamps contrasted with the bright moon overhead as the chill really set in. It was the shortest day of the year, and I was walking over the Thames, thinking of how I was doing much the same thing 6 months ago on the longest day of the year, too. The contrast was a sharp one - London then seemed almost green, a neo-bohemian city which could cater to any need. ...

If there’s one thing I can affirm as the scourge of my daily working experience, it is emails. And within the world of email, it’s the reply to all button. Do not use the reply to all button in anger. >.>

Intersection: “The man in the wheelchair pushed a straw into his soda, and I watched from my heated seat, wondering for the second time if maybe he’d lost his legs to Diabetes. Coke, Diet Coke. It seemed like such an important decision.” Dammit, Fish, I’m trying to work here.

I live! Just. Stuff has been happening, but nothing blog-worthy (or blog-able), and no ponderous thoughts have been appearing either, which leads to a general twiddling of thumbs. So what does one do when one has nothing to discuss? One… talks about the weather. And can I just say once more, it is bloody freezing up in this joint. When the footpath is covered in a thin layer of frost-ice in the morning, and your breath mists instantly even during midday, it’s cold. When you’re walking to work at dawn and the sun sets shortly after lunch, you know it’s not exactly cheer-inducing. ...