Whatever, made it a pleasure to take Shaun out for a trot at an ungodly hour of a Sunday morning, with the sun low in the sky and my boots crunching on the frost where the shadows still lay, the only noise the odd "Boom!" as a hunter, heavily fuelled by red wine, took a potshot at another hunter, doubtless mistaking him for a goat. Despite the camouflage jacket, which goats normally eschew, on the grounds that it would be unsporting. Also, inedible, which is very important to goats.
The trip was enlivened by the presence of a group of burly Poles on their way somewhere from Barcelona, conversing jovially in their curiously vowel-less language. When we got off at Lyon I saw that the conversation had been animated, at least in part, by a now empty pack of 36 bottles of 8° beer ...
I don't know why it was, but when I dropped the hire car off on Saturday I ambled off to the gare and picked up the return tickets I'd ordered that very morning. Normally I just pick them up as I leave, it only takes a minute or so ... but whether it was prescience or just plain good luck, it turned out to have been a Good Thing.
|Another one for the collection|
I really hate cutting things fine, but Stacey got me to the station with all of a minute to spare, and most of that was eaten up by dashing up and down stairs ... made it onto my train, anyway. Flustered, and sweating profusely (I really should train more for just this sort of thing).
Always think that at some time I can get away from niggling technical problems, such as why Margo's laptop won't send mail anymore (bloody Avast with bloody automatic update bloody breaking things) for a while, and every time I do I am inevitably disappointed. Somehow. Usually my own fault, let it be admitted ...
|Patron saint of facial eczema, with a client|
And so it came to me, as I was heading out the door to go up to Chambéry, that instead of lugging around in my long-suffering backpack some 6kg of armour-plated Intel Core i-7 and a few boxen in various states of undress and disrepair - just on the
First step, fairly obviously, is to go through a dyndns service to get me a URL, so I don't have to go and check what the router's IP address is each day: I don't know why, but the front-end software on the Livebox offers me the choice of exactly two such services, one of which is no longer free. Suppose I should be grateful that I had the choice.
Having got through that I then had to go set up the actual VPN itself, which is an arcane process. There are doubtless people out there who actually enjoy arguing the merits of Diffie-Hellman elliptic wossname level 3 vs level 5 over breakfast, or working out exactly how long it would take, down to the nearest microsecond, for the NSA to break a 17-character message encrypted with AES-512, but I am not one of them. Quite frankly, it kind of goes over my head. So I gritted my teeth, and went through all that.
|Anatomy lessons, C13|
In unrelated news, I was idly flicking through The Register and if you ask me, the Crown prosecutor should be hauled up immediately before the beak for grievous verbal harm, violence with intent, outrage to the public dignity and wanton cruelty to the private parts of speech -
Anyway, I have things to do and although that doesn't usually stop me it does involve paying work so I'd better at least make an effort to look as though I'm on the case.