Apologies (to the entire Zeph Auerbach fanbase) for the low rate of updates recently. I’ve basically been very busy. I don’t want to go into everything, but this summer I’ve had to work really, really hard to defend our power cores, in a number of strategic grid-based locations, from swarm after swarm of mindless alien scum. Look, if someone didn’t do it, we’d all be Homo Sapien Soup. Continue reading “Hiatus (for some)”
I was buying a BLT, Red Delicious and Tyrrell’s Vegetable Chips at the Sainsbury’s near Bethnal Green tube station, when I was faced with a now rather mundane modern decision: do I pay by using the self-service tills, or by using the human being? Man or machine? There were 4 of each (4 bays; 4 bodies), and I just stood there, torn between my two options, umming and ahhing, feeling like a complete (Buridan’s) ass. The queue bore down on me as I went through the following phases of vacillation. Continue reading “Arms Race at the Sainsbury’s in Bethnal Green”
I’m very happy to see ‘Only Once‘ published in Issue 8 of ‘Chemical Imbalances’ . ‘Chemical Balances’ is a great little prose / poetry / art / zaniness publication, and I highly recommend you getting hold of any number of issues of it anytime soon. This Issue is published under 5 titles: gotta collect ’em all! and all that.
All I really feel like saying today is that I don’t like beans.
That ‘Wittgenstein is dead’ should not come as news to most people (although you’d be surprised at the number of people who, when told about Wittgenstein Tweets, have asked, awkwardly: “Won’t this Whats-his-name-stein mind that you’re pretending to be him?”). Nevertheless, he is dead, just as certainly as before, and now his ghostlike, fast-forwarded impersonator @WittTweets has lain down to join him in his rest.
I am not suitably qualified to write an obituary for a virtual reincarnation of an enigmatic philosopher. I’d like to meet the man who is. But I thought I’d just share a few highlights of the project. I never thought I’d get sad (or make anyone else sad) with this silly project; let’s focus on the good times. Continue reading “Wittgenstein is Dead”
A few weeks ago I took my first visit to the public swimming baths in Surrey Quays. Walking up the disabled access ramp, I felt a little ashamed, for I harboured a snobbish trepidation: could I really go back to public bathing, after the dizzy heights of my Virgin Active days? To a place devoid of all jacuzzi and sauna? A place where the soap would not be free? Continue reading “The Public Swimming Baths in Surrey Quays”
Recently I achieved something special: I successfully found someone on an internet dating website. I’m not going to say I was lucky, because that would be misleading. Was Kasparov lucky when he beat Topalov in 1999? Hardly.
Dating is ultimately a game. I apologise for the reference to chess; that was misleading. The game that I think comes closest to it, from my personal experience, is probably Sins of a Solar Empire. Once you’ve dated for a while, you’ll see why. Continue reading “How to Win at Dates”
One of the benefits of living in Bermondsey is that, once a year, I’m woken up by the baying crowds lining the streets of the London Marathon. The running, the running: here we go again. I haven’t missed a marathon for the last twenty years, so I thought I’d chuck on my ancient Amsterdam Marathon 2010 t-shirt (once neon red, now a rather anemic pink) and trot down. Bask in the nostalgia. All glory to it, all things I am and own are because of the London Marathon. Continue reading “The London Marathon”
Some people might remember the post I wrote about a trip to The Tesco in Surrey Quays. I would like to formally apologise to Tesco PLC, because I let my imagination run a little wild. I wasn’t being completely serious. In this commentary I’m aiming at a greater degree of verisimilitude. Just the facts. None of the paranoia. The truth – whether that be cold, hard, or just warm and kind of spongy. Continue reading “Return to The Tesco in Surrey Quays”
OK, so this all started off one night in 2004 when I was hanging around Russell Square, waiting for the 188 bus, around 8ish, after a late lecture on the categorical imperative. Who did I notice out of the corner of my eye? None other than Robert Nozick. Star-struck, I kept my head down and only allowed myself furtive looks as he bounded down the street. I entertained the idea of asking him for his signature, but I realised the only book I had on me was the Tractatus, and that would’ve just been inappropriate.