I walk through Paddington Station dripping Red Bull® behind
me. I had naively thought that Red Bull
cans were water-tight but it appears not: I now have a rucksack full of the
stuff which I am carrying on my back like a portable, slow-release saline drip,
only stickier. My papers are soaked,
ditto my trusty London A-Z. I have to
buy a new rucksack, and then crouch in a corner of Accessorize® transferring
the wet, sticky contents of the old one into the new one. This is awkward to say the least. I then wring out the old rucksack and hand it
to a by now incredulous store assistant for disposal.
Quite apart from anything else, I am cross because I do not
like sharing my Red Bull, much less distributing it amongst a station-full of
strangers. However, as I head off for
Chancery Lane, trailing stickiness and Red Bull fumes wherever I go, I console
myself with the hope that by the time I reach CIPA I will have a string of
good-looking petrol-heads in my wake.
Fat chance.
At CIPA I find an ultra-excited Mr Davies playing with an
ultra-fast new computer. The new
computer can open an email without having a long think about it first and
questioning your motives. Apparently
many of the CIPA computers are slow because they are still trying to talk to
old computers that are no longer in the network. It is possible there are parallels here with
Council. In which case, there is hope
for us yet.
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