A long time ago there was a programme called Microsoft Office Word, and lo, whilst its name was spat upon by the legions of warriors in the rebel alliance of Apple Mac and Linux, the workers of the Empire did suffer under its yoke and eventually learn how first to use and then to abuse it. After many years of endeavour the workers of the Empire learned how to make Word do what they wanted, and for some time things were peaceful.

And then Microsoft revealed once more the teeth of its predatory nature, and the abusive side of its rule, and did announce an Evolution. Lo, did Bill Gates and all his little devils bring out Microsoft Office 2003.

And the people wept.

I had, for the record, become relatively proficient with the old Office 97 suite. I can’t programme in Visual Basic (although I suspect I’m going to have to learn), but I can hash a macro together given an afternoon with no distractions.

I used to be able to do this thing where you make a document that prompts the user to enter information. So you’d have a letter, say, and open it, and a series of dialogue boxes would appear asking for the recipient’s name, address and stuff like that. It wasn’t that hard.

Apparently it’s not possible to do this any more. There are only three field types allowed in forms that are not to be part of a mail merge. Those three do not include the “ASK” field, which is the one I need if I don’t want to have to type the same address 4 times, given that there is no option for adding a bookmark reference to a Fill-in field.

It has taken me 2 hours to work out why I couldn’t make this work properly.

And lo there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth and the workers did curse and spit upon the shadow of Bill Gates and all his little devils.

From the language use, particularly the punctuation, not to mention having an entire series of perfumes called ‘metamorphosis’ and a love of all smells called “green”, I have a sneaking suspicion that cb might just be one of ours.

The weather forecast isn’t great for Sunday’s Round the Forth. I’d prefer a lighter wind, but it looks like it’s due to be dry, anyway. Frood and I will both be there: he’ll be on Ivanhoe, the Dawes galaxy. I’ll have Shackleton the Pompino fixie.

The info came through for the Lepra Edinburgh – St Andrews. Not looking forward to the 1:11 (or did I dream the gradient?) Cleish Hill on a 70″ fixed, especially having read the warning about it getting very steep and winding on the descent. But it’ll be a hoot. And I’ll definitely deserve beer and ice cream after that. Probably some of the new Ben & Jerry’s Fossil Fuel, which is much nicer than it really ought to be. And has dinnossorrusses in it.

I just received an email from Chris Brosius.

He has a similar kind of synaesthesia to me, and he understood the barmy madness I wrote about his perfumes. So now there’s someone I can talk to about scent in the way I sense it, even if it’s not quite the same. He at least designs his perfumes from a topographical framework, so we can work on it.

He has recommended me one of his scents based on my (get this) colour and shape description of what I’m looking for. I can’t begin to describe how excited this makes me. It’s like having lived in a foreign country for years and years and then turning a corner one day and unexpectedly coming across someone who speaks a dialect of my native tongue and remembers what the weather is like in my native land in the springtime.

It’s such a difference from the girl in Boots in Exeter on Saturday, who insisted that the Dolce & Gabanna Light Blue was perfect. When I recoiled in horror from this overpowering, sickly, sparkling pink citrus scent that was like fake pink grapefruit flavour laced with sparkles, and had a shape like the way tinsel feels when one crushes it in a bare hand, this girl insisted it wasn’t strong and argued with me about how much citrus there is in it.

Time to give up on ordinary perfumes — and more particularly the people who sell them — once and for all. Boo-yah.

And Black March still rocks my boat.

This quiz I like.

Although these aren’t the guys I usually play.

Oh, and in an atempt to rival the Bike Stereo, I got me one of these at the airport yesterday.

Paid more for it than that, mind. Chiz chiz.

Damn. Looks like the original bike stereo has gone out of business. I wanted to ask him where he got his handlebar-end plug speakers.

Cadged from Estara.

What Magickal Tradition Do You Belong In?

You are of the Akashayana. The mind is a mirror and the world is its reflection.
Take this quiz!

Alternatively, by altering one response (which just proves it’s a crap quiz):

You are a member of the Ecstatic Cult. Break all the boundaries lest face being stuck in a rut for eternity.

In other news, Night Watch kicks ass. Seriously kicks ass. It’s so much better than the trailers had led me to expect — and that, boys and girls, is a sodding rarity. Not one I shall be watching with mater and pater, however. It’s really not their sort of thing.

Is a Hep B booster supposed to make your fingers go all tingly and cold and your eye smart like you’ve got soap in it?

I was fine last time. Well, I got a dead arm, but that’s normal.

The nurse has gone now. So she can’t help if I’m about to keel over.

Och, it’ll be fine. When I get a reaction to wasp stings I turn sheet-white apart from my veins (they turn bright purple) and swear uncontrollably. The injection site hasn’t even swollen.

The nurse just came all the way over from Embra to give me the second part of my Hep B vaccination.

We get all the excitement in this job.

It smarted. And my arm is complaining. And now my eye has gone all stingy.

I hate jabs.

I want some new clothes.

Not more clothes, you understand. Better clothes.

My two pairs of combats are too short since I did T’ai-Chi for a year (I grew two inches. Or maybe that’s an effect of the NC training. Whatever). I have been given two pairs of jeans by my Mum which are comfy only because they are too big and anyway they are blue. I have been given one pair of black leather trousers by my Mum which would be fab if they weren’t two sizes too big for me and make me look like I have a beer belly (I most certainly do not – my tummy is my best feature). I have two pairs of gi trousers which I use in all sorts of situations outside the dojo. And one pair of boot-cut hipsters that I love to bits but are getting worn out because I wear them so much.

I would really like to throw out my badly worn trackie bottoms and the two pairs of combats and give the black leather trousers to a charity shop, and then buy some clothes that (a) fit me; and (b) suit me. Gods, that would be novel.

I threw out a bunch of stuff before I moved up, but I could do with being even more ruthless and throwing out the stuff that really I will never wear because I hate it and only have it for those weird-ass occasions when I have to pretend to be a professional woman with no odd traits. White shirts. Smart skirts. That sort of thing.

I managed to get this job without having to dress like a banker. I could probably chuck those. Especially as they were second-hand and are too big for me anyway.

Getting clothes that fit my shape properly is a real drag.