I went round to see my copy editor today. I had to deliver a copy of the worm book, and she had asked if I could give her a lesson in *nix.
Of course, I gave her, free. the most important command anyone could ever learn for Linux :
No [aArRgGhH]
as soon as she raised the possibility. But she assured me that she had already got two installations running, she had learnt that it was a disaster, and she still dreamt of freedom from Microsoft.
I think I understand trackback now. Thanks, Kieran. It’s a thought-provoking blog.
This is the most frustrating piece of software that I know. It’s 90% right, which is what makes it harder to bear. The company that made it went made, and never put the ffort into keeping it up to date that they should have done. Nor was it ever mcuh cop as an Outliner: as Rupert once said, the only outlinish thing about the program was that the enter key didn’t work. But none of that really mattered.
What would it be like to be Mr Elizabeth David. You can get some idea from this blog.
The Daily Telegraph is often the most informative newspaper in England, because the most slanted.
This is largely true of the war in Iraq, which the paper wants more even that Ariel Sharon. The leader I have linked to — read all the way to the end — is the most perfect manifestation of American imperialism I have ever read.
Where do those Portuguese lexicographers find the time for anything else?
A puppy’s not just for Christmas — the leftovers are fine on Boxing Day.
and faintly ridiculous deadhead that I am, I have just found the most wonderful resource.
The first finished version is printing out. 69023 words. I could die now. It’s certainly preferable to reading what I’ve done.
The sucking backwash of his reputation was still gurgling down the beach as I grew up. He wasn’t quite dead then, though so drunk that he might as well have been; but he was the poet who had been inescapably important during the adolescence of people thirty or forty years older, so he was quite inaccessible to me. The short, famous and wonderful poems seemed like folk songs. They had always been there; they could never once have been original.
