Thursday. Michael arrives back from magical kingdom of Wakanda. Sadly, some of the old romantic folk skills such as filing seem to be dying out.
Wednesday. Asha Puthli spacing out again.
Tuesday. Just after I promised Michael two nights ago that nothing major had changed at the Szervita square hole-in-ground building site, this morning there's something new. A big green machine is helping the big yellow machine today, and a small stack of 3 or 4 portakabin container-sized offices has appeared. The green is the dark-leaf green that railway locomotives used to be painted in, not the fluorescent highlighter-green of another crane/digger I saw there a month ago.
Missing CEO with 150 million USD in crypto dies in fake-death zone.
Monday. Pop over to Robin's flat, natter with Bela & Letty.
French law now to use Parent 1 & Parent 2. No more mama/papa nonsense.
Sunday. Curtis Mayfield warns: If There's a Hell Below...
Saturday. Brain snooping on the way.
Friday. The fake that launched a thousand shills.
Thursday. Euro currency's bail-out frailties.
Wednesday. Chinese pills made of powdered baby.
Tuesday. EU copyright "law" augurs chaos and confinement.
Monday. More on the fake-face generators.
Sunday. AI creates fake people. New face, every click.
Saturday. Aeroplane seats spy on you.
Friday. Apparently face-recognition software gets sexes wrong.
Thursday. Today: the day of lurv.
Wednesday. Feeling a bit like Secret Santa - what's the equivalent? Undercover Valentine?
Tuesday. Brilliant, even warm, morning sunshine pours exactly down Petofi Sandor street turning it into a slot of liquid gold compared to still cold shadowy side roads. This rod of sun just misses the golden hoop floating over the head of Mother Mary atop her 18th-century stone pillar. Later, walking across the beautifully sun-glittered Szell Kalman square to catch my bus up to Crypto Hill, I see a bus with a symbol on its electronic forehead I haven't seen before. For about a decade the electronic number board on the front of the tourist bus that tours the Castle District has had a little lit-up castle-shaped silhouette, and the bus that goes to the airport has shown a generic aeroplane. Now a third one. Picked out in the orange dot-matrix display above the windscreen of the parked vehicle, are the Hungarian words for "Waiting for mechanic", next to an adorable little spanner pictured at a jaunty angle. We can rebuild him!
Meanwhile, the EU goes
Monday. Mild weather very much with a feel of spring. A quick reminder of how wonderfully odd Japan is.
Sunday. Two useful cryptocurrency articles: first
Saturday. Rather sad confirmation from Finland: free money means people don't work. Just as the dismal science predicts.
Friday. A strange day of being given books. Marion at lunch lends me a copy of Simon's second book to read: Sweets From Strangers. Then in the mid-afternoon I pick up a whole box of books from kind Bianka, including Stamboul Train from Greene, and then in the evening over to Robin's, where a review copy of Parables for the Pouring Rain by Paul Sutton has arrived for me.
Thursday. German woman's love affair with aeroplane.
Wednesday. Should creator of the early global-warming data be prosecuted for fraud?
Tuesday. A few days ago the cute little lift in the office on Crypto Hill was restored to operation. It broke down a fortnight before Christmas. Now once again, papered inside with cocktail-cabinet cigar-box veneer, it can connect the four floors. It chugs up and down, through the barely noticeable central column of the seemingly endless spiral stairs of cappuccino-coloured marble slabs, like a covert coffin. It claims to fit four people. Two adults can just about share this lift without becoming sexually intimate. Two more adults would have to be circus acrobats pinned across the ceiling. A notice in magical-kingdom English on the ground floor sternly enjoins users not to "jiggle or make smoke", and to take care with the "fixenings", among other poetic prohibitions.
Monday. Here is a handy list (thanks, Diane!) of some candidates so far seeking the Democratic nomination for the US presidential campaign in 2020.
Sunday. Rather lovely snow phenomenon seen in Wiltshire.
Saturday. Cheese reduces chances of death, claim boffins.
Friday. Find myself trudging around the 14th district trying to find an audition, mistakenly going to two of Katalin's old offices before finding the newest one. Walking along Rona street under cloudy skies (a street one building's porter insists has a bus route along it, but doesn't) was strangely interesting. I kept being reminded of slightly bleak bits of suburban Manchester such as Princess Parkway when rain seemed imminent. New gates, low buildings, random strips of grass all had this odd suggestion of some alternative reality humming, shimmering just beneath the surface of things. Banal surroundings peculiarly infused with transcendent freshness. I get to the audition, Katalin is very kind about my lateness. We read through it but I can sense not a role I'll get.
Mark Griffith, site administrator /
markgriffith at yahoo.com