Semi-colons are unloved creatures at the best of times. Most people don't have a clue what to do with them and feel slightly uncomfortable at the thought of introducing them into, what is otherwise, a grammatically correct sentence. To be honest, my use of semi-colons is experimental at the best of times, so I shall refrain from using them in this entry to avoid looking like a grammatical slob (more so than usual at any rate).
Anyway, I am losing track of my original point. They are unloved creatures, and whilst I may have trouble placing them correctly, I don't despise them to the extent that I avoid using them altogether. That is, until today.
I suppose it is not really the semi-colon's fault; Adobe is really the prime suspect. My CDROMs, yesterday on the verge of completion, were suddenly swallowed up in a mire of confusion.
I had tenderly, for an obscene number of man hours, compiled extensive metadata (title, author, subject, keywords, description, date of publication e.t.c) for over 500 documents. This enabled me to develop search indexes so that people can search the contents of the CD ROM. We go to test it and what happens? The author search doesn't work!!
Two hours of frantic testing later and we discover the culprit. Yes, the dear old semi-colon. Now, whilst Adobe allow keywords to be separated by semi-colons, when it comes to authors it is a different matter entirely. For some reason Adobe believes that there can only ever be one author to a document, and therefore the services of a semi-colon are unrequired.
Well Adobe, may I advise you that in research papers you can have up to 10 authors(if not more) and therefore it would be logical that the semi-colon separation principle would apply here too. And if it doesn't, it would be nice if you could mention it in your 'Help' function.
Unfortunately, logic and computer software don't tend to mix. I therefore spent a frantic morning removing in the region of 5,000 unloved and dejected semi-colons from my metadata. Happily, I can say it is now done and, fingers crossed, I'll be able to get on the plane on Saturday safe in the knowledge that my CD ROMs are complete and void of all semi-colons.
Thursday, 11 August 2005
Tuesday, 9 August 2005
Torn
The countdown is on till I touchdown in terminal 3 and crash headlong into the gritty reality of the polluted metropolis of London. The title of this entry 'Torn' is not quite exact. I can't say I'm exactly torn between here and London; it is an unfortunate necessity that I board the plane on Saturday. Dissertation and credit card bills being the main reasons for my return home but also the need, after 6 weeks, for a decent cup of coffee. Oh and of course to see the folks and my young man which go without saying.
So what's wrong with London? Well where do I start. Smiles. An extinct phenomenon in our dear capital. One journey on board our misery-infested tube system is enough, if you let it, to depress you for a week. In Laos people smile. They have nothing, but they are grateful for what little they have. People feed entire families on 25p a day and still they smile.
In London, people have everything and yet they constantly moan because everything is never quite enough. They moan when they haven't got the latest mobile phone; they sulk at their overflowing yet 'empty' wardrobes, muttering about their need to go shopping; if their job doesn't pay 40 grand they whinge. I'm not saying I'm any better, I do exactly the same when I'm in that environment. What a breath of fresh air though, to discover that there is more than one way to live. Where quality of life and happiness are not necessarily proportional to your monthly salary.
I'm also going to miss the accepting nature of Lao culture. You can be the queen of queens and no one bats an eyelid; homosexuality, at least for men, is totally acceptable. There are no looks, no sniggers, no beatings, nothing. Gay men are seen as equals. Although London is probably the most accepting area of England, it still has its share of prejudice and beating up gay men remains the sick past-time of some.
The same goes for religion. Everyone and anyone is accepted into their Buddhist culture. Anyone can sit in a temple and everyone can take part in Buddhist ceremonies. There are a lot of religions that could learn from these examples.
Somehow, in our progress from the developing to the developed world, we appear to have lost our acceptance for fellow humans. We have become narrow minded, prejudiced, competitive and greedy. There is a lot to be learned from our lesser developed neighbours.
I shall also miss the weather. My jumper has remained scrunched up at the bottom of my rucksack waiting for its inevitable emergence on my return home. I even enjoyed the frequent encounters I had with red mud. At least when it rains here it does a decent job of it. None of that hair-frizzing drizzle we get on a daily basis in the UK.
I wont miss witnessing horrific bike accidents.
Well enough of all that. It's back to the 4 quid tasteless sandwiches, the 5 quid glasses of wine, the ineloquent grunts of retail staff and the opportunity to rub shoulders with suicide bombers on the underground!
So what's wrong with London? Well where do I start. Smiles. An extinct phenomenon in our dear capital. One journey on board our misery-infested tube system is enough, if you let it, to depress you for a week. In Laos people smile. They have nothing, but they are grateful for what little they have. People feed entire families on 25p a day and still they smile.
In London, people have everything and yet they constantly moan because everything is never quite enough. They moan when they haven't got the latest mobile phone; they sulk at their overflowing yet 'empty' wardrobes, muttering about their need to go shopping; if their job doesn't pay 40 grand they whinge. I'm not saying I'm any better, I do exactly the same when I'm in that environment. What a breath of fresh air though, to discover that there is more than one way to live. Where quality of life and happiness are not necessarily proportional to your monthly salary.
I'm also going to miss the accepting nature of Lao culture. You can be the queen of queens and no one bats an eyelid; homosexuality, at least for men, is totally acceptable. There are no looks, no sniggers, no beatings, nothing. Gay men are seen as equals. Although London is probably the most accepting area of England, it still has its share of prejudice and beating up gay men remains the sick past-time of some.
The same goes for religion. Everyone and anyone is accepted into their Buddhist culture. Anyone can sit in a temple and everyone can take part in Buddhist ceremonies. There are a lot of religions that could learn from these examples.
Somehow, in our progress from the developing to the developed world, we appear to have lost our acceptance for fellow humans. We have become narrow minded, prejudiced, competitive and greedy. There is a lot to be learned from our lesser developed neighbours.
I shall also miss the weather. My jumper has remained scrunched up at the bottom of my rucksack waiting for its inevitable emergence on my return home. I even enjoyed the frequent encounters I had with red mud. At least when it rains here it does a decent job of it. None of that hair-frizzing drizzle we get on a daily basis in the UK.
I wont miss witnessing horrific bike accidents.
Well enough of all that. It's back to the 4 quid tasteless sandwiches, the 5 quid glasses of wine, the ineloquent grunts of retail staff and the opportunity to rub shoulders with suicide bombers on the underground!
Monday, 8 August 2005
Party Lao style
Having finally recovered from the emotional rollercoaster of coming face to face with death, I’m going to mention the rather happier start to my evening on Saturday night.
Tim and Song were holding a party for Song's nephews who were heading back to Paris after a month visiting their relatives in Laos. The age range was 5 months to 80+ years.
In true Lao style, the entire community had got together to prepare for the evenings events. When I arrived just gone five, there were groups of people sat in circles preparing vast amounts of food, a gaggle of lads setting up some giant loud speakers for the must-have Lao music and crates of Beer Lao stacked up in piles in every corner. Needless to say, it was a bit of an event.
To kick off the evening there was a pre-Buddhist Basci ceremony. A rug covered corner of Tim’s house was host to a golden shrine, placed in the centre of the floor and lovingly decorated with flowers and pieces of string. Everyone sat in a circle around the shrine and I was made to sit up front to hold one of the five pieces of string which had been draped off the shrine. Then, with the distinct melodies of Thai pop music wafting through the window from the speakers below (Lao singers had yet to arrive), the elder of the house began to chant. The words banished evil spirits and wished good luck to all those present, especially the two boys heading back to Paris (as translated by Song). Mid chant, the inevitable happened. Yep, you’ve got it…..a mobile phone went off. Not only that, but the guy whose phone it was decided to answer it whilst the ceremony continued around him. A couldn’t quite contain my need to giggle. What a mosaic of old an new!
Part of the ceremony involved pieces of boiled egg and rice placed on the head and shoulders of various people. These were then eaten. My wishing that I could be excused from this section of the ceremony obviously worked, as I managed to miss out on the eggy-hair experience (either that, or I just wasn’t considered worthy).
Finally, everyone tied pieces of white string around each others wrists. As they tie the knots they wish the receiver of the string luck in all aspects of their lives. I now have six pieces of string tied around my wrists that I am unable to remove should bad luck be bestowed upon me. It’ll look great in any job interviews I may have coming up.
The rest of the party was pretty average with copious amounts of Lao food, Lao music, Lao dancing (I have discovered my Achilles’ heel) and a life supply of Beer Lao. A great evening, until the bike ride home!
Tim and Song were holding a party for Song's nephews who were heading back to Paris after a month visiting their relatives in Laos. The age range was 5 months to 80+ years.
In true Lao style, the entire community had got together to prepare for the evenings events. When I arrived just gone five, there were groups of people sat in circles preparing vast amounts of food, a gaggle of lads setting up some giant loud speakers for the must-have Lao music and crates of Beer Lao stacked up in piles in every corner. Needless to say, it was a bit of an event.
To kick off the evening there was a pre-Buddhist Basci ceremony. A rug covered corner of Tim’s house was host to a golden shrine, placed in the centre of the floor and lovingly decorated with flowers and pieces of string. Everyone sat in a circle around the shrine and I was made to sit up front to hold one of the five pieces of string which had been draped off the shrine. Then, with the distinct melodies of Thai pop music wafting through the window from the speakers below (Lao singers had yet to arrive), the elder of the house began to chant. The words banished evil spirits and wished good luck to all those present, especially the two boys heading back to Paris (as translated by Song). Mid chant, the inevitable happened. Yep, you’ve got it…..a mobile phone went off. Not only that, but the guy whose phone it was decided to answer it whilst the ceremony continued around him. A couldn’t quite contain my need to giggle. What a mosaic of old an new!
Part of the ceremony involved pieces of boiled egg and rice placed on the head and shoulders of various people. These were then eaten. My wishing that I could be excused from this section of the ceremony obviously worked, as I managed to miss out on the eggy-hair experience (either that, or I just wasn’t considered worthy).
Finally, everyone tied pieces of white string around each others wrists. As they tie the knots they wish the receiver of the string luck in all aspects of their lives. I now have six pieces of string tied around my wrists that I am unable to remove should bad luck be bestowed upon me. It’ll look great in any job interviews I may have coming up.
The rest of the party was pretty average with copious amounts of Lao food, Lao music, Lao dancing (I have discovered my Achilles’ heel) and a life supply of Beer Lao. A great evening, until the bike ride home!
Sunday, 7 August 2005
the cost of the war in Iraq
Came across the National Priorities Project website whilst doing some dissertation research. You can never really guarantee the accuracy of these sites, but it certaining puts the cost of war in perspective. Check it out!
Saturday, 6 August 2005
the sad face of Laos
Yesterday, I saw someone die. A teenage boy, most probably drunk, hit by a car whilst riding a motorbike. I was on the back of Shane's bike and we were heading back to town from Tim's party, (coincidently a really fun evening) when we turned a corner to see a crowd gathered in the middle of the road. The young man lying on his back, his helmet and bits of his bike strewn across the road, lay dead. Someone had respectfully placed a piece of cloth across his face. One foot no longer resembled a foot. This was the closest encounter i've ever had with a dead person and it was horrific, despite there being no obvious signs of blood. It has traumatised me quite badly.
500 yards down the road there was another accident involving two motorbikes this time. The victims had been taken to hospital.
It happens every single night, here in Vientiane. Drunken teenagers riding full pelt on motorbikes, either without helmets or, as in the case of the young man yesterday, a helmet with the straps undone. What's worse is that there is no ambulance service and minimal healthcare if you make it to the hospital. In cases where the victims survive, friends usually throw them in the back of a tuk tuk (no thought for spinal injuries e.t.c) then negotiate with the tuk tuk driver for a reasonable price to get their friend to hospital.
The only other time i've seen someone dead was after a ayoung girl jumped from a multi-storey carpark. In that instance she had been completely surrounded by people and I was spared the graphic nature of her untimely death. Yesterday's situation was different, and somehow more brutal, in the absence of paramedics and ambulance sirens. There was just silence as people tried to work out what to do next.
It also got me thinking, once more, about the military and the psychological trauma military personnel must go through when they face hundreds or thousands of deaths in warfare. It also got me thinking about the driver of the car and what he must be feeling to have killed, even if accidentally, a young life. I wondered what it must take to be able to kill someone deliberately; what it must feel like to pull a trigger or press a button, instantaneously ending the life of a fellow human being. Finally, I wondered if my brother, in his rush to apply for the RAF, had actually ever experienced seeing death in the flesh or even thought how well equiped he will be to deal with it when the situation inevitably arrives. I wonder how he will cope in warfare.
500 yards down the road there was another accident involving two motorbikes this time. The victims had been taken to hospital.
It happens every single night, here in Vientiane. Drunken teenagers riding full pelt on motorbikes, either without helmets or, as in the case of the young man yesterday, a helmet with the straps undone. What's worse is that there is no ambulance service and minimal healthcare if you make it to the hospital. In cases where the victims survive, friends usually throw them in the back of a tuk tuk (no thought for spinal injuries e.t.c) then negotiate with the tuk tuk driver for a reasonable price to get their friend to hospital.
The only other time i've seen someone dead was after a ayoung girl jumped from a multi-storey carpark. In that instance she had been completely surrounded by people and I was spared the graphic nature of her untimely death. Yesterday's situation was different, and somehow more brutal, in the absence of paramedics and ambulance sirens. There was just silence as people tried to work out what to do next.
It also got me thinking, once more, about the military and the psychological trauma military personnel must go through when they face hundreds or thousands of deaths in warfare. It also got me thinking about the driver of the car and what he must be feeling to have killed, even if accidentally, a young life. I wondered what it must take to be able to kill someone deliberately; what it must feel like to pull a trigger or press a button, instantaneously ending the life of a fellow human being. Finally, I wondered if my brother, in his rush to apply for the RAF, had actually ever experienced seeing death in the flesh or even thought how well equiped he will be to deal with it when the situation inevitably arrives. I wonder how he will cope in warfare.
Friday, 5 August 2005
The red pen effect
I have recently discovered that retired teachers make up a substantial proportion of the readership of this blog. They include both my parents and at least one of my father’s ex-colleagues. As a result, I have become acutely aware of my mediocre grammar and imagine them sat reading, fingers twitching, in need of a red pen. Thankfully, computer screens don’t care much for biros so I can sit here happily typing away, accusing the inept computer programmers for their failure to design adequate spelling and grammar checks.
In honour of my newly discovered audience, I feel the need to share my experience out drinking with English teachers here in Laos. With so many teachers disillusioned with the state of the teaching profession in the UK, it is a shame that more don't follow the path of the guys I met on Tuesday night.
Here in Laos, an eclectic bunch of men, mostly British, meet at one of the bars / family homes most nights of the week. Beer Lao in hand, they discuss why they could never head back to the UK, they compare their motorbike / near death experiences of the day and decide which bar to meet at the following evening. They discuss their working days. Ben is unlucky; he had to work five hours that day. Most of the other English teachers teach for 2-3 hours a day. Not only that, but Ben has to be at school by 10 am the following morning. The other teachers don’t start work until mid afternoon.
According to Shane, his friends head out practically every night for a few drinks. There is no moaning about inept delinquents, no dealing with verbal or physical abuse and very little work done outside working hours. In return they earn 10 dollars an hour. Baring in mind the average civil servant here takes home 20 US a month, the teaching wages are perfectly adequate to live off.
And so, living in houses they rent for $100 a month (which includes bills, cleaning and laundry) they teach a few hours by day, sip beer by night and suffer none of the stress that teachers in the UK endure. No wonder they’ve been out here for three years; no wonder they have no intention of heading home.
In honour of my newly discovered audience, I feel the need to share my experience out drinking with English teachers here in Laos. With so many teachers disillusioned with the state of the teaching profession in the UK, it is a shame that more don't follow the path of the guys I met on Tuesday night.
Here in Laos, an eclectic bunch of men, mostly British, meet at one of the bars / family homes most nights of the week. Beer Lao in hand, they discuss why they could never head back to the UK, they compare their motorbike / near death experiences of the day and decide which bar to meet at the following evening. They discuss their working days. Ben is unlucky; he had to work five hours that day. Most of the other English teachers teach for 2-3 hours a day. Not only that, but Ben has to be at school by 10 am the following morning. The other teachers don’t start work until mid afternoon.
According to Shane, his friends head out practically every night for a few drinks. There is no moaning about inept delinquents, no dealing with verbal or physical abuse and very little work done outside working hours. In return they earn 10 dollars an hour. Baring in mind the average civil servant here takes home 20 US a month, the teaching wages are perfectly adequate to live off.
And so, living in houses they rent for $100 a month (which includes bills, cleaning and laundry) they teach a few hours by day, sip beer by night and suffer none of the stress that teachers in the UK endure. No wonder they’ve been out here for three years; no wonder they have no intention of heading home.
Wednesday, 3 August 2005
knives......an endangered species!
Just a minor issue with Lao tradition (alongside the use of condensed milk in coffee) is the cultural allergy Laos' residents have towards knives. Every meal you order, from fried rice to steak, is presented alongside a fork and a spoon. Lao culture dictates that you eat an entire meal with a spoon because placing a fork in your mouth is considered extremely rude. That may be the case, but have you ever tried cutting meat with a fork and spoon? It is a unique experience, often resulting in flecks of meal populating your clothing in an unsightly manner. It is possible that the use of knives at meal times may be the one western tradition that should be encouraged over here -that, and an import of Jersey cows to produce half decent fresh milk for coffee!
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