#oneaday Day 528: Thoughts on Google+

You can’t say I don’t provide you with variety here, dear readers. Just yesterday I was talking about underage boys simulating anal sex in a school library in order to avoid doing work, and today I’m telling you about what may or may not be the next big thing in social networking: Google+, Google Plus, Googlyplus, G+ or whatever the hell you want to call it.

If you haven’t got in yet, don’t ask me for an invite at the moment as they’ve switched them off for now. Keep an eye on Twitter or Facebook, though — I’ll let you know if I have any more spare.

So, to business. What is Google+? Well, the cynical would say it’s a rebranded Facebook, and indeed we’ve already seen at least one article today bemoaning the fact that Google+ has some features in common with Facebook. I’m not sure why they felt the need to draw attention to this, as the features they show are pretty commonplace in all social networks.

But are those cynics right? Well… yes and no. Google+ does indeed resemble Facebook. You have a news feed, people can comment on posts, people can Like things (or “+1” in this case) and people can share content. The key difference between Google+ and Facebook is how it handles the way you interact with people. There are no “friend requests” on Google+, simply Circles. Circles is an evolution of Facebook’s Groups system, in which you can categorise your friends, acquaintances and family members into, well, categories. Then, when you post something on the network, you can choose which individuals or Circles it’s visible to — or even make it completely public. This is a nice idea. It allows people to tailor the content they spew out to different social groups without feeling that they need to have a “work” profile and a “professional” profile. So long as, of course, you remember to keep the stories about the hooker you threw up on to your “Drinking Buddies” Circle and don’t accidentally copy in your boss.

So the way you deal with people is different. But there’s more; the photo interface is simple, elegant and much better than Facebook’s slightly clumsy lightbox. While I think that the lightbox was a good addition to Facebook’s interface, many disagreed, and the fact it’s difficult to view the image and look at the comments at the same time unless you have the highest-resolution screen in the world is not great. Google+ takes a different approach. Not only does the service allow you to upload pictures at considerably higher resolution than the artifacted messes that Facebook’s compression creates, but the interface allows for simple inline commenting while still viewing the picture. It’s a simple case of putting the comments in a sidebar rather than underneath the picture, and it works beautifully well.

Then there’s the fact that the Photos feature on Google+ integrates with Google’s Picasa service. Anything you post on Picasa will be available on Google+, and vice-versa. You can even use Picnik to edit the photo, add text and generally arse about with it, save it back to Picasa (even overwriting the original if you don’t need it any more) and the modified version will be right there in your feed without you needing to refresh the page. Clever. Since Picnik is a third-party service, though, this isn’t integrated quite as well as it could be — an “Edit with Picnik” option when viewing a photo on Google+ would be nice, for example — but it’s early days yet. And Google+ allows simple iPhoto-style edits of colours and the like to be applied to pictures without having to leave the page, which is nice, particularly for those who either don’t know a lot about photo editing or don’t have the software to do anything fancy-pants.

This isn’t even getting started on the excellent Sparks feature, where you can subscribe to topics of your choice and be fed a constant stream of relevant articles — which can, of course, then be shared with the Circles of your choice if you see fit.

As you can tell, I’m quite enamoured with the new service and genuinely hope it takes off. My only worry is that it, like Facebook, might try and do too much. Facebook was an excellent service when it felt personal, but now it’s as much a home for businesses to engage with their clientèle as a means of communication, it’s becoming increasingly irrelevant to people who just want to talk to their friends. Google+’s simple elegance that it has at the moment doesn’t have any of that noise — and none of the associated spam from social games and endless “What Length of Pubic Hair Are You?” quizzes, for that matter. I’m sure it won’t stay that way, as social game and app developers are already pricking their ears up at the buzz surrounding the service, but I hope it stays that way for at least a little while. There’s definitely a market for a clean, clear social network with minimum fuss that offers something a little more than Twitter but a lot less than Facebook. And I think Google+ has the potential to be it if the developers handle it correctly.

#oneaday Day 527: Doing a Bum-Sex

As you may have surmised from some of the earlier entries in this blog, my experiences working as a classroom teacher were genuinely traumatic at the time, on many occasions causing me considerable amounts of stress, depression, panic attacks, you name it.

In retrospect, now I don’t have to deal with the little scrotes on a daily basis, some of the things were quite amusing. These things weren’t amusing at the time (and when you think about it, are often quite tragic) but now I take a perverse satisfaction in the fact that these little horrors who once made my life such a misery will surely find themselves in difficult positions in the future, unless they discover a way to stop being such a twat.

Let’s take the cast of Fat Barry, so named because his name was Barry and he was fat. This may sound a bit harsh, but this is a child who, among other things, decided that rather than engaging with Music lessons, he would place a cymbal on his head and wander around pretending to be a racial stereotype of a Chinese peasant in a school with a not-inconsiderable population of ethnic minorities, so in my mind he deserves all the abuse in the world.

I didn’t just take Fat Barry for Music lessons. I also had the pleasure of his company in a subject known mysteriously as “Key Skills”, a lesson which I didn’t learn until after I’d started at the school was basically “the spaz class”, where all the children too stupid (or, more often, badly behaved) to achieve anything whatsoever got the opportunity to sit around and learn how to use washing machines and read.

On one memorable occasion, the Year 8 Key Skills class was tasked with researching famous people, living or dead, that they might like to invite to a dinner party. (I hasten to add I had nothing to do with the planning of these units, so their vapid nature wasn’t my choice — although it’s not as if we could have got anything more intellectually stimulating out of most of them.) As befits a research task, we had relocated out of our stuffy classroom (which on one memorable occasion, I was locked in while the children found it hilarious to climb out of the window, but that’s another story) into the school library.

For once, most of the kids were sitting down actually looking at books — being given the opportunity to look up things they were actually interested in rather than being forced into set topics in English, Maths, Science and all the rest meant that they were, thank the stars, engaged and quiet.

All except for two, who were conspicuously absent. Fat Barry and his friend Shane, whose defining characteristic was the fact that he habitually wore trousers slightly too short for him coupled with prominent Burberry-pattern socks. (I’m not sure Burberry actually make socks.) I could hear giggling from behind some of the shelves, so while the rest of the class were engrossed in their picture books I went to investigate.

I wasn’t quite prepared for what I found. Shane was lying face-down on the floor, with Fat Barry straddling him. (Fortunately, both were fully clothed, although I’m surprised Shane could breathe.) Fat Barry was gyrating somewhat suggestively atop his friend, and I foolishly said the first thing that popped into my head.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We’re doing a bum-sex, sir!” replied Fat Barry.

In retrospect, what I should have done at that point is open the library door and yell down the echoey school corridors “What’s that, Barry? You’re doing a bum-sex? That’s a bit gay, isn’t it?” because, as everyone knows, accusations of being gay are like the worst things ever at secondary school, leading to the whole problem where genuinely gay teenagers feel that they can’t come out for fear of being ridiculed. I was aware of this problem, which is perhaps why I chose not to do it.

Fat Barry wasn’t gay, incidentally. He had a Grandad with a shotgun that he thoughtfully brought along to one of the rehearsals of the school play — a mildly terrifying moment — and would probably have been on the receiving end of some redneck punishment if he had come out as gay. So his proclamation of the fact he was supposedly delivering anal pleasure to his best friend on the floor of the library occurred for one reason only — to shock and appal.

It worked.

#oneaday Day 526: The Adventures of Many Rogues

Amarysse the Cornac Fighter set out into the Trollmire, determined that she was going to find whatever hidden treasure the forest held. She didn’t let such petty concerns as monsters worry her — she had her sword in her hand and was ready for anything the forest could throw at her.

Chop! Down fell a forest wolf.

Hack! A fox, cleft in twain.

Slice! A swarm of midges, scattered to the four winds.

Smack! A troll biffed her on the head and she keeled over, dead.

Laramee the Higher Arcane Blade set out into the Trollmire, determined that she was going to find whatever hidden treasure the forest held. She didn’t let such petty concerns as monsters worry her — she had her sword in her hand and her innate magical abilities ready to burn any monsters to a crisp.

Chop! Down went a forest wolf.

Sizzle! A fox, burned beyond recognition.

Slicefizz! Her flaming blade tore through the flesh of an unwitting troll.

She found her way deep into the forest and was momentarily taken aback by a loud roar. Suddenly, a large troll, bigger than anything she’d ever seen before, bounded out of the shadows, punched her in the face, knocked her to the ground and then squeezed the life out of her.

Pierre the Cornac Archer set out into the Trollmire, determined that he was going to find whatever hidden treasure the forest held. He didn’t let such petty concerns as monsters worry him — he had his trusty bow ready to turn any monsters into a pincushion.

SUDDENLY, TROLLS.

Pierre died having fired off just two shots. The monsters that surrounded his corpse tore him to pieces.

Lord Bath the Higher Alchemist set out into the Trollmire, determined that he was going to find whatever hidden treasure the forest held. He didn’t let such petty concerns as monsters worry him — he had a massive golem with laser eyes as a companion.

Boom! He threw a bomb at a clump of wolves and laughed as they burned to a crisp.

Stomp! His golem squashed a snake underfoot like it was a tiny bug.

He heard a roar off in the distance, but instead of setting out to foolishly investigate what it was, he turned around and left the forest, planning on spending the afternoon in the local halfling village.

He wandered into the local shops, offloaded his ill-gotten gains to the local merchants (who looked a little intimidated by the giant golem) but was soon accosted by a shady-looking halfling.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Okay,” replied Lord Bath without a moment’s hesitation.

“I like a warrior who doesn’t shy away from a fight,” said the halfling, chuckling to himself. “Try not to die too quickly.”

“Wait, wha-?” said Lord Bath, suddenly finding himself in an arena with a gladiator bearing down on him.

“Golem! Strike him down!” he commanded, hiding behind a pillar and fumbling in his quiver for some alchemical bombs to hurl at his would-be assailant. The gladiator, fortunately, was more focused on the giant rock monster than Lord Bath.

Eventually, with a shattering crunch, the golem disintegrated and Lord Bath was left facing his assailant across the arena. Taking a few steps back, he continued hurling bombs at the gladiator, watching him gradually weaken with each successful hit.

The gladiator fell, then a halfling with a sling entered the arena.

“You have got to be joking,” said Lord Bath to himself, glancing over at the ruins of his companion and fumbling in his pack for more gemstones to transmute into bombs.

Eventually, the halfling slinger fell, but not before Lord Bath had taken a few blows to the skull. He lightly touched the runes infused into his skin and felt his wounds begin to heal, just as another swordsman entered the arena.

A few swift bombs later and the swordsman, too, was down for the count. Lord Bath was declared the champion of the Arena — for now — and let out to go on his way.

And he’s still alive to this day.

You can join the brutal permadeath fun with a free copy of Tales of Maj’Eyal, the only Roguelike I know of with online stat-tracking.

#oneaday Day 525: Heat Wave

Any time it gets a bit hot in the UK, it’s a “heat wave”, even if said “heat wave” only lasts for a few minutes. More than a day and you start getting into “serious risk of hosepipe ban” territory, and more than a week and the Apocalypse is clearly here. We’re currently in the midst of one said “heat wave”, and naturally things are going downhill fast. Apparently there are a bunch of trains that can’t run because it’s too hot.

Too hot? They stop running when it’s snowed, they stop running when it’s too hot. Did it not occur to anyone to make these transportations devices which are rather important to the British transport infrastructure a little more all-weather compatible?

Of course, as a nation, the Britons are well known for their distaste of any kind of weather whatsoever. Hot outside? Wander around complaining that it’s “too hot”, that it’s “sticky”, that you “wish there was more shade” or crack some lame joke about global warming. Raining? Mutter about it being “nice weather for ducks” (even though ducks don’t like rain), be unbearably smug about the waterproofs you might be wearing or look thoroughly miserable as you get completely drenched. Grey and miserable? Bemoan the fact that there’s never any “interesting” weather, huff and sigh to yourself or simply gaze into the middle distance. Snowing? God help the country as it grinds to a complete halt.

All this seems to suggest one thing: humans are clearly not designed to cope with any kind of weather condition whatsoever, at least while clothed. Clothing gets wet, or sticky, or smelly, or covered in snow and cold, or otherwise messed up. As such, the solution is clear: we must stay inside, install air conditioning and be naked at all times.

Okay, that’s perhaps an extreme solution to the problem. But you’d think that given we’re an indigineous species to this planet we’d be able to cope a little better with a bit of sunshine or a bit of water falling from the skies.

Me, I like it when it’s raining. I like the sound it makes. It’s a relaxing sound — an opinion backed up by the fact that various “noise machine” apps for iPhones and whatnot often include the sound of rain as a default noise to fall asleep to. Sun I can take or leave. It’s nice for it to be warm, but having to squint in order to see anything and running the risk of looking like a lump of well-cooked ham after spending too long outside is always something of a risk.

One thing is absolutely for sure, though — it’s bloody boiling in this room right now, thanks in part to the weather and thanks in part to the amount of technology in a fairly confined space. All respect to my PC, which is coping admirably with the heat and is somehow managing to remain one of the coolest things in the room.

It goes without saying that I’m ho– no, I can’t do it. Seriously.

#oneaday Day 524: Live and Let Live

The whole “OMG YOU MUST SEE THEM LIVE” argument has never really washed with me. In my admittedly limited experience of going to gigs, the experience of hearing a beloved band (or, in one case, a beloved band of my friends’, and one which I was totally unfamiliar with) performing their best work on stage is infinitely inferior to sitting down, putting their album on your high-falutin’ home theatre setup and cranking up the volume.

For one, the people in charge of the mixing desks at all the gigs I’ve been to felt that the bass should clearly be the highest number, meaning the subtleties of the sound were completely overwhelmed by the WHUBBBB WHUBBB WHUBBBBB of the bass. I know there are people who specifically go in search of music that goes WHUBBBB WHUBBBB WHUBBBB but I’m not sure there’s as much crossover with fans of guitar bands as some sound engineers think.

The other thing is all those bloody other people that are milling around blocking your view, bumping into you and spilling your drinks. You may well give the “oh, it’s all part of the atmosphere” argument here, but, well, I think we’re rapidly establishing that the only kind of atmosphere I’m particularly interested in is one where I can sit in front of the fire with a pipe and listen to some records of the hippity-hop music on my high-fidelity home stereo audio system, preferably with some sort of family-friendly dog or cat sprawled out in front of the fire at the same time.

My attitude towards a lot of live music, I think, is why I’ve never had any interest whatsoever in going to Glastonbury, Reading or any of the other festivals there are. Living out of a tent? Fine, I could do that. Living out of a tent and sharing limited toilet facilities with approximately eleventy bajillion unwashed hippies smoking the crack? (Well, maybe not all of them smoking the crack. Some of them are shooting up heroin.) No thanks. The toilet facilities on my primary school camping trip terrified me enough to not shit for a week (I wouldn’t recommend it — that first shit after a week will 1) be immensely difficult and 2) present you with some of the more unpleasant things that will ever come out of your body) so I shudder to think the effect that Glastonbury would have on my bowels and arse, especially with the quality of the food as it is there.

Perhaps I’m missing the point. I have a feeling that I am, because otherwise that many people wouldn’t converge on Glastonbury year after year and see apparently increasingly-mainstream headline acts (I believe Beyoncé is on as I write this) and mutter to themselves about how it “used to be better”.

Ah well. Live and let live. They have their field full of mud. I have my pixelated tower block simulators and 2D multiplayer Team-Fortress-2-in-aeroplanes joy Altitude (which I discovered tonight — seriously, it’s awesome). I think we’re all happy with our lot. Ish, anyway.

(As an aside, can I just say that this weekend has gone by entirely too quickly for my liking and I’d very much like another one, please. That said, this week I’m expecting to be able to share some exciting news, so perhaps it’s good that this week is starting imminently.)

#oneaday Day 523: The Adventures of Lord Bath

I finished The Witcher 2 today after quite some time. It’s a beautiful game with a few niggly, tickly little flaws, but overall a fantastic experience for those with the hardware to back it up. Even better, Xbox 360 owners will be able to enjoy it for themselves at some point in the near future, too. This post won’t contain spoilers, for those of you still intending to play it.

The best thing about it is its uncompromisingly adult nature. It doesn’t do this in the slightly tacky way that its predecessor did with its collectible “sex cards” — instead, it keeps the best bits of its predecessor, which is a feeling that your choices throughout have consequence — and that said choices don’t have a “correct” option. You say your words, you deal with the consequences. This has such a big effect on the game that once you’ve finished Chapter I, the rest of the game is completely different based on a choice that you make — and then within each chapter, there are plenty of smaller choices to make that affect the way things transpire and indeed the way the whole thing draws to a conclusion. It is, in short, a Good Thing.

The combat is the biggest hang-up for a lot of people. Taking its cues from Demon’s Souls, this is a game that’s not afraid to stick its cock in your ear and thrust until it hurts — or, indeed, some equally unpleasant metaphor. You fuck up in combat and you will die against regular enemies. Several times. You will learn to block and you will learn how to use your spells effectively rather than just hacking away a la Zelda or Diablo.

For the most part, this is cool. Swordfights feel like swordfights. Boss encounters require strategy rather than endurance. But there were just a couple of points throughout where it just felt a little bit unfair — mostly when it came to situations where our titular Witcher Geralt was attacked by multiple assailaints from all angles. There were several occasions where I couldn’t see how I was supposed to defend against the barrage of incoming blows — this alone would be enough to put some people off, I feel. I, fortunately, have a bit more patience than that, and settled for a few expletives. Only once did I feel the need to lower the difficulty level — and I put it straight back up again to complete the game, and the bosses towards the end weren’t as difficult as this relatively incidental confrontation.

So in summary then, if you’re looking for an RPG that treats you like a grown-up without feeling tacky, The Witcher 2 will scratch that itch. If you’re not one for overly-technical action RPG combat, then bumping the difficulty down to Easy allows for a satisfying experience from the story without the frustration of dying repeatedly on a battle that really shouldn’t be that difficult.

And if you’re wondering why I titled this post “The Adventures of Lord Bath”? Well, when I explained the concept of the original The Witcher to my girlfriend Andie by pointing out that the protagonist was a “white haired dude who kills people and has sex with a lot of women”, her immediate response was “Oh, like Lord Bath?” (Disclaimer: I have no evidence as to Lord Bath’s extracurricular activities. But I find the alternative name for The Witcher amusing, so it stays.)

#oneaday Day 522: Addressing the Audience’s Demands

So in an attempt to better understand my audience, such as you are, I’ve been delving once again into the top search terms for my blog. I’m going to take the top ten search terms from the last year and address each and every one of them individually so that hopefully if you’ve been in attendance on this page at some point in the past and found it to be wanting for further information on the topic you searched for, you’ll feel better and more satisfied in your choice of Google links that you clicked on.

Divine Divinity (303 hits)

Divine Divinity is an action-RPG from Larian Studios which bears more than a passing resemblance to Blizzard’s Diablo series. The difference is that the world is not randomly generated and there is a more robust quest and interaction system more akin to something like the Baldur’s Gate series. The entire world is available to explore from the get-go and aside from some appalling voice acting of the very worst kind, it’s a great game. Pity its sequels aren’t up to much. You can grab it from Good Old Games.

I’m Not Doctor Who (81 hits)

That’s the name of this site, because my name is Peter Davison, though I usually go by “Pete” because I prefer it. Peter Davison, as you may know, was the stage name for Peter Moffett, who played the Doctor in Doctor Who between 1982 and 1984. I am not him, therefore I am not Doctor Who.

Offensive GIFs (73 hits)

Here’s one.

Teaching Sucks (65 hits)

Teaching does indeed suck. I’ve worked as a classroom teacher on two separate occasions in my life and on both occasions it nearly killed me. In the first instance, I stuck it out for three years in the secondary school music classroom — my first year in a run-down school half a million quid in the red where I was threatened with being knifed on a regular basis, and my second in an ostensibly “nicer” area but which still reduced me to a literally gibbering wreck by the end of my time there.

The reasons why it sucks? Poor behaviour and teachers’ lack of power to do anything about it. Ridiculous amounts of bureaucracy. The fact that one person is expected to do what, in any other job, a team of at least four or five people would take on between them.

If you can stick it out, fair play to you. It’s not for me.

“Mandatory Sex Party” (35 hits)

This was a term coined by Allie Brosh, who at one point wasn’t sure whether or not it was an actual thing that happened. I’m still not sure, but there’s certainly a lot more than one Google hit for it now.

Persona 4 (35 hits)

Persona 4 is one of my favourite games of all time. Featuring a hugely lengthy quest, genuinely loveable characters, a gripping (if crazy) plot and a love-it-or-hate-it catchy soundtrack, Persona 4 is one of the greatest JRPGs of all time and I will fight you if you disagree.

Fatal Labyrinth (34 hits)

Fatal Labyrinth is a graphical roguelike for the Sega Mega Drive/Genesis. You can play it as part of the Sega Mega Drive Collection on the Xbox 360 and PS3, but I bet you haven’t.

“Get Rich or Die Gaming” (27 hits)

Get Rich or Die Gaming is an absolutely terrible Xbox Live Indie Game with artwork that looks like it was put together in Microsoft Paint, voice acting that would make a school play’s director blush and designs on being a point-and-click adventure. Fair play to them for actually releasing it, but it really is not very good.

NSFW GIFs (26 hits)

Here’s one.

Memes GIF (25 hits)

(Click to embiggen. Some NSFW. Some NSF anybody. Apparently this character is called “optimized GIF dude” and is something of a meme. I’d never heard of him, actually.)

So there we are. I hope you feel suitably satisfied now. If not, go and have a sandwich and a wank.

#oneaday Day 521: It’s Your Turn Now

I’ve discovered the most terrifying thing in the universe: the man who very politely, but incredibly loudly, tells you “It’s your turn now!” on the iPhone version of Carcassonne. It’s terrifying because hearing someone’s voice when you’re not expecting to — such as, say, when you’re trying to get to sleep — is a frightening thing. Quite why a murderer or rapist would say “It’s your turn now!” is… no, hang on, that sort of works, doesn’t it? Shit.

But anyway. The terrifyingness of Carcassonne is not what I wanted to talk about — at least not directly, anyway. I wanted to take a moment to talk about asynchronous games, how awesome they are and where they can go from here.

The iPhone (and, presumably, Android) is home to a wide range of excellent asynchronous-play games, allowing people to play at their own pace at a time to suit them. The upside to this is that people even in wildly disparate time zones can play games against each other. The downside is that it’s easy to forget what games you’re playing, particularly if your push notifications decide not to work properly.

But that downside isn’t sufficient to dampen the awesomeness that is the ability to play Carcassonne with someone across the other side of the world. The “…with Friends” series (Chess, Words and Hanging) are all excellent examples of How To Do It Correctly, too, providing a simple, intuitive interface to games that most people know how to play. The quirky and entertaining Disc Drivin’, too, offers a fun experience, even if whoever goes first has a clear advantage over everyone else. (That’s my excuse, anyway.)

Certain social games are taking steps to incorporate asynchronous features, too. Dragon Age Legends, for example, allows players to recruit their friends’ characters — complete with equipment and abilities — into their party for combat. This allows people to play with their friends without their friends actually being there — defeating the object of a multiplayer game, you might think, but actually making the best of the fact that it’s pretty rare for you and all your friends to be online at the same time.

Consider this taken to the next level, though. Why haven’t we seen an asynchronous MMORPG yet, where players can party up with AI-controlled characters based on their friends’ equipment and ability lists? It works in Dragon Age Legends, though admittedly that’s a very simple turn-based game. But most MMORPGs have AI built in for enemy and ally characters anyway, so why shouldn’t there be a way for players to “play” even when they’re not actively logged in to the game? I think that’d be kind of cool, actually — and it would certainly get around my biggest bugbear with MMORPGs, which is the fact that a good 90% of my friends live in a completely different and mostly incompatible timezone to me.

On a related note, then, if you live in Europe and want to play Champions Online, Spiral Knights or anything else you’d care to suggest (preferably of the free to play variety) do please get in touch!

#oneaday Day 520: The Top 5 Things I Wish You’d Stop Doing In Swimming Pools

I went swimming today having rediscovered it with Andie last weekend. I used to go a lot after work (that long-forgotten concept soon to be reawakened) alternating swim days with gym days, and while I didn’t get “good” as such, I certainly found myself able to swim surprising lengths without too much difficulty — or indeed speed, but that’s beside the point.

Today I managed 1km, which equates to 40 lengths of the pool I was in. I’d got up to being able to do 100 lengths at one point and to be fair, I could have kept going today were it not for the fact I needed to get home and Get Shit Done.

So, in honour of my swimming achievements I’d like to present the Top 5 Things I Wish You’d Stop Doing In Swimming Pools.

Putting on deodorant before getting in the pool

Seriously, Lynx-clad chav boy, who do you think you are impressing by making yourself smell like a gypsy’s jockstrap before jumping in the pool? You’ll only stink of chlorine in approximately 5 minutes anyway, so you might as well not bother, because swimming through the cloud of “aromatic” chemicals emanating from your person as they rinse off your hairless body under the water is anything but pleasant.

Finding your kids splashing people in the face amusing

Yes, a kid learning to swim is probably very exciting for a parent, but when some 6-year old git splashes me in the face obviously deliberately and you sit there laughing at him, that’s giving him positive reinforcement and unspoken permission to do it again. I would very much like it if he didn’t do it again, thanks, because it went up my nose and made me cough, and it also made me hate him, and you.

Prancing around naked in the changing room

Yes, I am aware that you need to get naked in order to get changed to go swimming. But do you have to be naked for quite so long and towel-dry your testicles quite so enthusiastically? And if your friend is with you, don’t you find it a little weird to stand there talking to him with your cock hanging out? If you weren’t in a swimming pool changing room you wouldn’t do it, would you? If you were both in your bedroom or living room it would be a bit weird, wouldn’t it? Unless, of course, there’s some sort of homoerotic tension between the two of you, in which case you should hurry up and consummate your love elsewhere and stop inflicting sexual tension on the rest of the pool’s visitors.

Getting pissy with people in the slow lane

I swim slowly, as do numerous other people. We don’t have a “super-slow” lane to downgrade ourselves to. You, however, have a “medium” lane which you can upgrade yourself to. Please use it. I bet you walk on the left on Underground escalators, too.

Being there

Frankly, I like the pool better when it’s just me (and maybe one companion) there. Kindly bugger off out of my way and, preferably, the pool so that I can enjoy the time in the pool I have paid for. Sure, you may have paid for it too, but I am grumpier than you. Go and see your naked friends in the changing room.

#oneaday Day 519: Good News

Almost a year ago to the day, I posted an entry on this very blog noting that I was starting to feel more positive about things. Of course, things didn’t quite work out the way I planned for quite some time, but for those of you who don’t follow me on Twitter, I’m pleased to report that today, Tuesday June 21, 2011, I was offered an actual job from an actual company. Not only that, but the actual job from the actual company in question represents something that I actually want to do — something that I was beginning to give up hope on. Something I’d given up hope on enough to apply to be a customer service monkey for British Gas — an opportunity which they were keen to pursue with me, but which I thankfully didn’t follow up on. I don’t see myself as a phone jocket. Largely because I fucking hate talking on the phone.

No, this new job, which I will refrain from posting too many details about until I’ve signed various contracts and officially accepted the position, will have me doing some writing in the games industry, though not as a journalist. It’s a role at a software company, meaning I’ll hopefully have the opportunity to be exposed to the process of game development as well as marketing. It’s based in London, too, which is a mild pain in terms of accommodation prices, but quite exciting in that it’s 1) closer to my friends who are still on the south coast 2) closer to my friends who now live in London and 3) it’s London, and I’ve never lived in London before.

From a cursory examination of Rightmove, actually, the area of London that would be most practical for me to live for this job actually doesn’t cost that much more than a shithole like Aldershot. Granted, in Aldershot you probably get a bigger room for your money, but given that I’m effectively “starting over” at level 1 with nothing but vendor trash gear on my back, I don’t mind slumming it in a pokey little flat for a while. After all, the future’s already looking brighter, so better things will inevitably be on the horizon.

This, then, represents pretty much all of the negative status effects I picked up over the last year and a bit being lifted. Now it’s just a case of restoring HP (and finances), acquiring better gear (and somewhere to live) and then the path is clear to level 80.

Or, you know, something less geeky. Oh, sod off. I can express my good news however the hell I want.

So, then, that was today. I start my new job on July 4, so that will be a period fraught with both excitement and nervousness — but the good kind, rather than the “shit, everything is going wrong, how am I possibly ever going to get through this?” kind. Which is nice.