/* Randomness:

Now, I'm damn' sure that playing Frogger should not bring on thoughts of one of Shakespeare's "famous bits":

"These our actors, as I foretold you, are but spirits, and are melted into air..."

Now, admittedly, "spirit" and "sprite" are very similar word, but since Frogger seems pretty polygonal, even this connection is, at best, tenuous.

Oh, and I've forbidden myself from using the word "w*ll" except in the context of health - or indeed, in the context of a deep hole with water at the bottom. Must resist the urge to cliché... */

/* I suppose I'd better update, so as random people still believe in my existance - inasmuch as I exist to them at all. I fail to see how existance can be meaningfully transmitted via TCP/IP. I'm sure, for example, that if (for some undefined, undefinable reason) circumstances demanded it, Toby could emulate my style well enough to trick all of the people some of the time...

... which is probably just long enough.

"But seriously, folks..."

Actually, sod that last statement. Do not, under any circumstances, take me seriously.

I never do.

But - what's happening? Nothing. Except in that I'm reading through and preparing my mind to edit "Twelfth Banquo" (working title), by Ben, the most highly esteemed William Shakespeare (roughly), a variation on Mark V Shaney, some unsuspecting legal hack at Microsoft, and myself... suffice to say it's, well, alternative, farcical, and at the moment starts with Act II Scene I, and someone (undefined) gets stabbed in the second line.

We need to work on this one.

And blogger's broken. Keeps throwing back Errors 503 at me. "We're working on this. Please try back later." Oh well. Brain fucked - core dumped - situation, well, normal. */