Oh shit man.

I hate the fact that I have only submitted daylogs in the past few weeks, but a lot of shit has been going on, and it just doesn't seem like it is going to stop anytime soon. Hence I have this to share with you all.

To you: I can't thank you enough for being the person you are. I understand how you feel and I respect it too, and I am almost glad in a way that you got upset over what you did. I know that sounds weird but, it shows that you truly care about me and that is something I haven't felt in a long time. I'll be waiting for you baby.

Tonight: Well ya see, I was having a really slow night at work which was ok, but I was bored and I couldn't study at all for some reason.

Anyway, the night goes by, I had that evil old woman in here again, and she was being mean to her kid, grrr, I don't like her man. But all in all, everything went fine, I got my cash up done early, was chillin, had gotten a little bonus for my hard work, yay! so I was content to just wait till twelve when Feeney would come in.

He gets here, a little late, and I decide to chill for a while and maybe get some quality reading in before going home. Course then I deicde that smoking a little hash in the bathroom, or as we refer to it as "cleaning the bathroom", wouldn't be that bad of idea......so, you only live once right?

Yeah, well ,remember when I told everyone about the day from hell in which the icing on the fucking cake was me dropping my glass piece and breaking it? Yeah, well it was still working ok up until roughly ten minutes ago.

Yupp, I did it again, dropped the bowl in the bathroom sink while trying to merely empty out the ashes.

I guess it is not that big of a deal, actually I know it isn't. But it is scary to me in a weird way because I just wonder why.

I wonder why things happen as they do, and I wonder if I am doing something wrong, or if I deserve all of this shit for some reason. I am speaking here of other things, beyond the simple loss of a glass bowl. That is just one little speck in the pile of dust that I am.

It scares me also becuase I don't want it to be a sign of something. Until five hours ago my MSN messenger name was broken glass, and then I switched it cause I don't feel broken anymore....and look what happens.

I don't know, it is just all kind of a little too crazy for me. Whack shit that I don't want to even start thinking about metaphorically, even though I know I can't escape it.

So, yet again, I find myself caring about something that maybe I shouldn't. But it is not the material thing in question here, it is the act itself, the fact that it happened.

Shit, I gotta stop. The more I write about this, the more I feel like ripping my hair out of my head because I have gone insane from all the voices in my head, and even more so because I question my right to make an issue out of this at all.

Update:Yes, it was a sign, a real, real, fucking big one.

Last night I was bored and decided to spoil the next two week's worth of Buffy The Vampire Slayer storyline for my friend Kate, because I'm a bit of a bastard and I sometimes to that kind of thing. After sending the spoilers in question via a text message, I recieved an angry phone call, which then turned into a slightly more calmed down and normal conversation. Every so often there was a noise on the line like someone picking up and putting down a telephone. Considering the somewhat drug-related nature of the conversation at times, we started to make jokes about people tapping the phone and how much trouble we'd be in if that happened.

All fine and normal so far apart from a slight problem with my cordless phone or the phone system, we're not sure which.

The conversation progressed onto what books we're both currently reading, which is when Kate mentioned The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks. A little while later the conversation ended and I went back to E2 and then I saw it. Under "New Writeups" was a node entitled The Wasp Factory, written by SharQ.

Now we have an amazing coincidence. Still, though, nothing to worry about.

I then went to SharQ's home node to send him a friendly message explaining what had happened. Out of curiosity, I scrolled down to see what kind of person I was dealing with. It all came together when I saw where he lives. A short bus ride away from my house.

Now I'm starting to panic, as it all started to make sense. That guy was really a figment of that guy's imagination, that other guy was a replicant, another completely unrelated guy was dead all along and this guy was tapping my phone, listening in for good node material.

I'm gonna run some water in the background whenever I talk on the phone from now on. Watch his number of new writeups drop.

Now a daylog thanks to Fruan pointing this out to me in my sleep-deprived state.
I feel ashamed of only noding daylogs lately, but I hope they're informative. If you downvote all daylogs on principle, go find something else to dump votes on.

Today was a good day, until 7pm. I visited family friends, and had a good time chatting to them. What happened next is best explained by the letter I wrote (and eventually emailed) to Thameslink rail's customer service department:

For the attention of the Customer Service Manager

Dear Manager,

This evening, Saturday 4 May 2002, I arrived at St Albans City station at about 7pm, on a slightly delayed Thameslink service. I intended, before going home, to purchase a ticket for a journey I shall be making next weekend to Dudley. Accordingly, I queued at the ticket office and was served at window number two by a large, bald-headed member of staff who was not wearing a visible name badge.

The ensuing attempt to buy a ticket took me twenty minutes and was unsuccessful.

Initially, the salesperson did not know where Sandwell and Dudley (the official name of my destination) was, and had to be told, and reminded several times of the station's name during the course of the attempted sale. I explained, clearly, that I was happy to reserve a seat when travelling from Watford Junction to Dudley on the morning of Saturday 11 May, but that as I would be dining with friends in Dudley on the evening of Sunday 12 May, I should prefer not to reserve a seat in the return direction.

I was initially (but not rapidly) informed that I could book a 'Virgin 7' for £10, but was not informed what the conditions of this ticket might be. The salesperson then changed his mind, and said that I could not book a 'Virgin 7', but could book a 'Virgin 3' for £17. However, in order to do so, I would have to specify which train I wished to return on. I pointed out that I had already explained why this was not reasonable. I did learn that there was a service to Dudley departing from Watford Junction at 7:40 on the Saturday morning. For some minutes, I persisted in trying to discover whether it was possible to book a simple weekend cheap return. I was not given an answer to my question, but repeatedly told that I could purchase a 'Virgin 3' if I reserved seats in both directions. There was also a reference to a 'SuperSaver' (or some similarly named ticket) which would restrict me to Silverlink or Central trains1. I was not told the price of that ticket. Moreover, when I enquired which company operated the 7:40 service previously mentioned, I learned (after a delay) that the service was operated by Virgin Trains. A 'SuperSaver' ticket would therefore not have enabled me to use that service.

I maintained that I was unwilling to be prevented from using Virgin Trains (which despite their reputation are certainly better than Silverlink, and often, in my experience, better than Thameslink), and that I wished to retain flexibility as to my time of return on the Sunday. I pointed out that the absence of timetables for Virgin services at St Albans made it difficult to book a return journey even if I wanted to. The salesperson then offered to use one of his computers to provide this information. The information he provided was distinctly selective, and was delivered by him bellowing the across the area behind the glass screen. He continued to speak loudly for the remainder of the transaction. By now I was much later in leaving the station than I had hoped, and named the most suitable sounding of the Sunday services mentioned. The salesperson took another five minutes to find out seating information, during which time he was working on two different computers at the far side of the ticket office. He then returned, and stated the arrangements offered, and the price of £17. Before I presented my Switch card for payment, I asked him to confirm what he had consistently implied, that there was no way to reserve a seat only on the outward journey. He refused to do so, and said that he would not sell me my ticket if I continued shouting. As I am recovering from a throat infection, and had earlier appeared to be having difficulty making myself heard at all, I was surprised by this untrue accusation. The salesperson, on the other hand, was most certainly shouting, to the extent that his colleague in the ticket office, and several customers in the booking hall, were by now watching him. I pointed out his error, and left before I could be further insulted.

Despite having spent twenty minutes on the transaction, the salesperson failed to sell me the ticket I requested, or the ticket which he had seemed to determined to force on me. Moreover, I now discover from the Railtrack website that he failed to advise me of the correct range of return services; and from Virgin Trains' own site I have found and purchased a Saver Return for £21:502, taking just five minutes. This fare was not referred to at any point during my visit to St Albans Station this evening, despite it fitting my stated requirements exactly.

Moreover, in attempting to transmit this complaint, I have just received an error message from your (poorly designed) website and would have had to re-enter this entire message, had I not had the foresight to save a copy in advance. I also had to fill in entirely irrelevant and not entirely accurate journey details on the form above the message area. The operation still failed, and the telephone number offered is only staffed during normal office hours - a fact not in any was mentioned on the error page - and refers to 'Swallow Information', and not to Thameslink at all. As, up to this point, I had no complaint with Swallow Information, whoever they are, I saw little point in leaving a message, especially not on the Saturday of a Bank Holiday weekend. I have retrieved this e-mail address from the National Rail website, as you decline to advertise it on your own.

I look forward to receiving, by email to the above address, a full explanation of this very poor standard of customer service.

Yours sincerely,


Facts not mentioned in letter:
1: Central Trains don't operate over the route in question.
2: Virgin give you a pound off for booking online, and post the tickets to your home address for nothing.
May the 4th be with you!

This Saturday was the day of the Ganja day Festival of Ganja and anti cannabis-prohibition march, in Brixton, London, UK.

I have tried smoking weed, and even liked it for a few months. But I got tired of it, and it doesn’t go down well in my delicate lungs. However I support the freedom to put what you like into your body, and see marijuana legalisation as a major step against the pointless War on Drugs. It’s the thin end of the wedge, in a good way.

And it was a day’s entertainment, for free.

I found the pre-march gathering in the park near oval tube station around twelve, which I was told was the designated starting time. True to the stoner ethic, a lot of people were chilling but nothing much was happening.

I soon bumped into N- and K-, who I haven’t seen since Cape Town a few months ago. And some of their friends, some new to me, some who I hadn’t seen for a longer while. Though I didn’t expect it, I wasn’t really surprised to see them here.

The march was a happy event. I think back on a few anti-apartheid marches that I attended in 1988, where the police went easy on us because we were intellectual lefty university students, not the angry underclass. These still ended in standoffs, and I recall being ordered to disperse, rubber bullets, teargas and being videoed from a circling helicopter.

This was a nice day out. There was a fine harvest of freaks marching, dub music, the smell of burning vegetation and we waved at the bystanders, who seemed happy to see us. The police seemed unarmed, and limited themselves to making sure we stayed on course. Some people had outrageous costumes. The best must have been the girl on stilts, painted green, with a giant ganga-leaf thing strapped to her back.

It was slow going, in this big crowd. A hour or so later we arrived at the destination park where a large festival was in progress. There were thousands of people there. Many tents and food stalls, mostly catering to people with the munchies.

We wandered. There were several sound systems playing. I thought that the B.A.S.S. (Brighton Alliance of Sound Systems) tent was the most fun, and we danced there for a bit.

Though it was chilly, with big clouds in the sky, there was intermittent sunshine and no rain.

Several times we were offered skunk by young black men. A couple times we were offered Mitsubishis and other chemicals.

Later we met more SA’ians and went back to N- and K-‘s place for a braai. The park was still filling up as we left around 6pm.

I had quorn, guiness and potatoes. I found N- and K- a lot friendlier than the last few times that I saw them in Cape Town, and don’t quite know how to take that. The other people there were all related, of course. Cape Town is quite small socially, perhaps because we have similar professions and interests. We soon worked out what friends, mailing lists, social events and ex-employers we had in common.

A good day in all.

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