Invincible summer |||

Losing people, finding people

Bizarre. Through Web 2.0, miracle of the steam age, I’m reunited with John Craig. Back in the day, we were 20-something programmers at I.P. Sharp Associates. We worked together on a management-accounting system for the Reckitt & Colman Group, for whom I’d just finished work on a statutory accounting system. We worked closely then, but I doubt I’ve seen or heard from him in thirty years. Suddenly we’re talking again and collaborating on a system rebuild. And I’m here in Denmark, working on a system that is largely, yes, you did guess it, management accounting.

Gets worse. This afternoon I get a reply to an email I sent 9½ years ago. Don’t drop that old email address. People do get around to answering you. So I’m in touch again with cosmopolitan and ubiquitous Hal “Ubi Roi” Carim, whose notoriously aerial roots are currently sucking the Seine in Paris. It’s a smaller world than the one I grew up in.

Except in Denmark, that was always small. Does “bounded in a nutshell” ring any bells? No, wait a minute. Story I want to tell you. About meeting people.

C. already had a man when she met her husband. She was on her way home by train and thinking about what she wanted in a man. A handyman, she thought, What I need is a handyman. And there is one. Asleep, mind you, but look at him: a handyman. Then he woke up and looked at her. And asked for her phone number. And got off the train. She went home and told her man she had met someone and was going to leave. “What’s his name?” her man asked. “I don’t know,” she answered, “but he’s got my phone number.” And that’s who she’s been with since. Not a handyman; though, a philosopher.

Up next Mr Ahmad’s extradition One of uglier aspects of our ‘special relationship’ with the US is the enactment in law of a treaty providing for rapid extradition to the US. Under Beyond my toenails
Latest posts All that jazz: The librarian’s song Sandals on their way home A short history of the Australian Flat White Cycling glove, slightly foxed Untoward occurrence at embassy poetry reading To Go to Lvov The founding of Iverson College The pot-boy’s story Prisoners of our own device How green is my valley The ghost in the shell Finding primes with q Policing protests in Glasgow Why don’t we do it in the road? The democracy of narcissism The rest is silence Bergh Apton revisited What makes a language flourish? A duty of care Crispbread economics Learning vector programming The Underground The Post Office scandal A plea for simplicity BoJo the clown Days are of two kinds Trollope What we saw in Roswell The orkestra bows out Imagine Hampstead village and South End Green with no through traffic What makes this so dangerous