Imported From Epistula music programming

Code in C

(sung to The Beatles “Let it Be”)

(I’ve never found out who wrote this one, or this varient. I’ve modified it slightly from the text I found)

When I find my code in tons of trouble,
Friends and colleagues come to me,
Speaking words of wisdom:
“Code in C.”

As the deadline fast approaches,
And bugs are all that I can see,
Somewhere, someone whispers
“Code in C.”

Code in C, Code in C,
Code in C, Code in C.
LISP is dead and buried,
Code in C.

I used to write a lot of FORTRAN,
for science it worked flawlessly.
Try using it for graphics!
Code in C.

If you’ve just spent 30 hours
Debugging some assembly,
Soon you will be glad to
Code in C.

Code in C, Code in C,
Code in C, yeah, Code in C.
Only wimps use Python.
Code in C.

Code in C, Code in C,
Code in C, oh, Code in C.
Pascal won’t quite cut it.
Code in C.

{ Guitar Solo }

Code in C, Code in C,
Code in C, yeah, Code in C.
Don’t even mention COBOL.
Code in C.

And when the screen is fuzzy,
And the edior is bugging me.
I’m sick of ones and zeroes.
Code in C.

A thousand people people swear that T.P.
Seven is the one for me.
I hate the word PROCEDURE,
Code in C.

Code in C, Code in C,
Code in C, yeah, Code in C.
PL1 is 80’s,
Code in C.

Code in C, Code in C,
Code in C, yeah, Code in C.
The government loves ADA,
Code in C.

Fiction Imported From Epistula MLP


Every so often I recommend people, when they don’t have anything to do, or want something to read, to go browse the archives of Intertext for a while. I’ve been reading it for several years now, and it’s been consistantly good.

I kept meaning so write things and submit them, but never got around to it.

Too late now, Intertext is dead. It will be missed.

In parting, though, it leaves us with the festive story Santa Claus Must Die!! which you should read.

2004 Christmas Imported From Epistula MotW


It’s half past ten. The Christmas dinner was a qualified success (A couple of things were a little overdone) and my new breadmaker is quietly cooling in the background. The Christmas pudding was set alight, and was gorgeous.

I have both port and stilton, new games to play, book to read (Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell). In a couple of days we will be invaded by parents & possibly even siblings (who I haven’t seen since May), and a couple of days after that I’ll wander up to spend New Years with friends.

I don’t post enough when stuff is good and I’m not stressing, so consider this a “Life is good” post.

And, as a Christmas gift from my MP3 collection to you lot, a piece of festive family fun.

dreams Imported From Epistula


So last night I dreamt I was setting up a wiki.

Except I was doing it with about two hundred people in a warehouse, and I put Artela and Lalajia in charge of the magazine, which wasn’t going to be called Cogsworth after the clock in beauty and the beast. I set other people (afpers, afers, suds people and school-friends I haven’t seen for ever) doing other things.

The first rehearsal involved everyone sitting at exam desks, and Lalajia got number 001, and called it out, so I wrote it down, but then I had to go.

I got to where I needed to be, but when I was going back, I ran into the (government?) operatives we were hiding from. I refused to show them my ID card, so they shot at me with blue plasma cannons.

Fortunately I was super-fast and bulletproof.

Christmas Imported From Epistula Projects


The world has ended. I’ve stopped updating.

Okay, not exactly, but I’ve Lillypadded slightly. I’ll explain in a second, first, the life update:

I’m now on Christmas holidays. I’m on emergency call for work most of the holidays, but the number of things that would necessitate calling me up from Letchworth (…when everyone else lives in Bedford…) is tiny. I can think of two, offhand.

Of course, I haven’t done any Christmas shopping at all. I’m planing on doing it all tomorrow.


Possibly. It’ll be fun, and my feelings for humanity need a blow at this seasonal time…

Tomorrow I have to:

  • Go into town to collect pre-ordered turkey from Friendly Local Butcher
  • Collect FoodStuff from Places
  • Dump it at home
  • Go somewhere with shops (probably Cambridge)
  • Shop.
  • Shop some more.
  • Get lunch
  • Finish the shopping
  • Come home
  • Wrap up presents
  • Tidy up a bit
  • Die from tiredness.

    In that order.

    So, Lilly padding. The Lilly Pad Syndrome, as it was called when I used it to explain what the Prince was doing with his life during the time when it happened (Ye gods, that’s a convoluted sentence. I don’t use aliases much in this journal, really, but the Prince got one early on.) It basically is the tendency of people (me included) to keep an eye on where they want to jump to, at the extreme negligence of the lillypad they’re currently standing on. This means, to overextend the metaphor slightly, they get wet when it sinks.

    In this case, I have a New Thing, which will take a little while to set up (and I’m not sure will be worth the effort). It’s part of my campaign to get back to writing content. Watch this space. Unfortunately it means that instead of thinking of what I’m going to do for this, now, I’m busy working on Pareidol and how it’ll work instead.

Imported From Epistula Politics


Singing Bye bye Blunkett, Blunket goodbyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Computer Games Imported From Epistula Movies

Rule One: You do not talk about the fight club game

So, they’ve made a game of Fight Club

In this game of Fight Club, you beat the living crap out of people.


Have they even seen the film? Talk about missing the point.

Imported From Epistula stories

Dinner on the table

I got a surprise when I got home.
“Heather? Why is there a man chained to the shower in the bathroom?”
“He followed me home, Master.”

My name is Soon. It wasn’t a name I’d have chosen, to be honest. In fact, I’m of the humble opinion that it’s a bloody stupid name to give a creature of the night. Which is what I am, in fact. My name is Soon, and I’m a vampire. Christ, I sound like something out of ‘Vampires Anonymous’. The name was given to me by my Sire, who has since passed away from this moral realm. Again. She was executed for biting me and turning me into a vampire (Which was very – aha – kinde of her. Sorry, vampire joke. It’s funny if you’re dead) without the expressed permission of those more important than her. She does have a name, but I won’t speak it. I don’t remember much about my life before my death, but I do remember having a thing about not speaking the name of the dead aloud. Thus my renaming, and the unnaming of my redead sire.

Currently, I’m carving a niche for myself in the realms of LA as one of the few who will deal both with the Anarch – who dislike the organised tiers of vampires – and the Camarilla – who are the organised tiers of vampires, and have the somewhat arrogant belief that so is every other Kindred (or Vampire, to you) including, and here’s the bit that really pisses the other side off – the Anarchs. I can see both sides’ point, and the point of the Sabbat (Who prefer – ironically – Anarchy) (And I’d deal with them too, if they weren’t so hell-bent on using my dead hide as wallpaper). I have, at this point, had something of a capital N Night involving Beckett – a historian/werewolf/smug-arsehole; the possible End Of All Things and an explosion that would have killed me were I not already ahead of the game on that score, and have come home to find Heather and this instance of humanity in my apartment.

Oh, Heather, Right.

Heather is a ghoul. She accidentally came between a man with a shotgun and where he wanted to be sometime a couple of nights ago, and ended up dying in a room in a hospital. I was passing though on my way to find some blood and found her. To be honest, she looked pretty grim. There was something I could do, though…

Vampire blood is sovereign specific to humans. It cures everything from a sore throat to the more mild forms of death, and will have you up and running within an hour or two. Not only does it cure you, but you get some of our strength and ability to resist things like gunshots. It’s rich, tasty and comes on tap from your friendly neighbourhood vampire.

On the downside, you become a willing slave of the kindred whose blood you drink, willing – and determined – to do anything in your now considerable power to make your master or mistress’ life a more pleasurable one. In my case, this means someone who can do things while it’s daylight, mostly. I don’t need a ghoul, and really find the happy-dog-good-dog attitude faintly embarrassing. But she would die if I kicked her out – not that she’d go – because she needs to drink from me every so often and will do forever. Which means its a constant reminder of what you’ve done. And then when they try to please you…

“He followed me home, Master”

Which is somewhat easy to believe. Heather is somebody I would have considered cute while I was alive – the dead don’t feel such things without strong medication – and doesn’t look like she could – for example – kick you clean over a high wall. The idea of this brick-shit-house of a man following her down the dark alley where we make our home is not one I find surprising.

“And I thought you might be hungry”

And this puts me into something of a quandary. I can’t kill innocents. That is, I can, obviously. It’s not as if it’s harder to pierce the neck of an innocent and drain the sweet wine from their veins than someone who is trying to kill you, to the contrary most of the time. This is a moral thing. I don’t want to get into the habit of draining the guiltless, because that’s one step on the journey to losing all trace of humanity. There are vampires who lose the civilised edge, who roam the streets slicing, dicing and feeding on whomsoever gets in the way. I know. I’ve been sent – by both sides – to kill them. They are beasts, and they are hunted like them.

On the other, and possibly more relevant hand, I probably can’t let him go. He’ll call the police, and at the very least Heather will be locked away and will die (as I can’t feed her in prison. What would I do? Send her a cake with a bag of blood inside?), and at the most I’ll have to kill some policemen. In both cases, mortals will be wandering around telling people how they saw people who were talking about sucking blood, chained them to a radiator, whatever. This is the Masquerade, the diplomatic fiction that vampires don’t exist, which persists so that vampires can exist without being hunted down by the 100,000 people each that the mortals outnumber us by. Letting him go would break the masquerade, killing him would break me.

I know I should talk to Heather for putting me in this spot, but you can’t really chastise a ghoul without shattering their fragile little existence, so I don’t. But what do I do? I can’t let him go.

Of course, the fact that he was planning to mug, possibly rape and murder, Heather doesn’t spell him out as an innocent, but the possibility remains that today was the first day he got back from work, maybe as an investment banker, and said “Dash it all, this stable income is far to much for me, I long for a more perilous career! I know, I shall become a mugger!”. He could be an innocent.

Fuck it. I drain him. I’m an undead monster, after all.

Imported From Epistula webcomics


It’s been said that I read too many webcomics, well, this has been proven inaccuate. The Top Webcomics of 2004 have been announced, and I don’t read a single one of them.


aqcom Christmas Imported From Epistula


Bleh. Ill. Hate being ill.

Last night I finally got around to moving my blinks system over to (Well, I actually started using it a month ago, but now the front page uses the del links instead). People who are subscribed to the RSS feed should just get redirected to the new feed. Other people shouldn’t notice any difference, apart from the fact there are fifteen new links in.

This is an announcement to people who are annoyed because I keep buying things that they want to get me for christmas, or don’t know what to get me. (Everyone else can ignore this announcement completely):

This is a list

Here endath the announcement.