2007 — 23 June: the days are just packed

There's yet another inch or so in the non-pond...

Today's expotition... department

Let's see what the bright lights of Eastleigh have to illuminate, shall we? There's a lot to be said in favour of returning to normalcy. (Or should that be "normality" — where's a dictionary when you need one?)

Stay on the lookout for a photo of Boris the Spider. I haven't yet loaded the picture from the latest digital "film" but he was ever so sweetly guarding our front door last night when we went out for a dusky stroll after 9 o'clock.

Technology? Pah!

Well, that was a miserable adventure and a quarter. The new 1TB drive abso-positively refused to allow itself to be reconfigured as RAID1. It was delivered as RAID0 by default, and my other choices were the delicious "JBOD" and to have it as a pair of unspanned drives. So I've opted for the latter. Then it was two hours or so to copy all the MP3s across from the HP PC's USB-attached "MyBook" via the network, and another hour to copy the same data from drive 1 to drive 2 inside the new box. So I was getting about 1GB/minute across the network and about twice that more locally. (I assume the data still had to whizz up and down the Firewire800 cable and traverse the iMac in some way.)

The new drive is also not as quiet as I'd like, though it's nothing the noise-reduction circuitry of the Sennheiser headphones can't handle. But I think I'll be able to cut noise levels simply by burying it behind some books, frankly.

And Boris?

I'm afraid the non-flash was too dark and blurred, and the flash was too bright and blurred. And now, of course, there's no sign of him or his little web.

I was more successful in The Works however, and (earlier in the week) in what used to be Ottakars but is now a rather ordinary-seeming Waterstone's:

Bedside reading, however, is still the new Richard Dawkins, though I've only a few pages left. Marvellous book.

  

Footnote

1  The one wherein Roosevelt is supposed to have entered Churchill's bedroom, finding him (fresh from a bath) dictating notes (in the nude) to his secretary. "You see, Mr. President, I have nothing to conceal even from you..."