Apologies to Jay Kay for nicking one of his song titles. I needed to build a virtual linux box to run Joomla so that I could get up to speed with it. The last time I had anything to do with this, it was called Mambo, and wasn't half bad as a CMS.
So I settled down with a copy of ubuntu (I'd like to say I have a favourite linux distro but it strikes me as like joining a club that likes only yellow cars - linux is linux, really) and installed it together with xampp and after a few hours I had my Joomla server up and running. Nothing wrong there - a perfectly acceptable overhead, a morning's work - but it wasn't until I started trawling the net for some Joomla templates to modify that I came across these people:
They do pre-configured virtual machines, with the software that you need to run on top of it already loaded. So, in effect, you can download a Joomla appliance that you fire up in vmware and configure, and then you are good to go. Excuse me while I flagellate myself for using an american-ism there, I meant "Ready to go", of course. 5 minutes - compare and contrast that with the effort and configuration to get my linux VM up and running.
Some of these appliances are free to download - Joomla, sugarCRM, Drupal and TikiWiki, others, like OrangeHRM and Wordpress are available on a subscription basis. What is interesting is that you have an option to launch software in the cloud, so assuming you have an Amazon EC2 account, you can launch the software on a PAYG basis. Which is very very cool. So if you need to architect solutions using a bunch of discrete boxes, this is a very quick and interesting way of putting together rough sandboxes.
Yes yes, the usual disclaimers apply, I'm not employed by these people, nor do I recommend them in any professional capacity. It just struck me as a useful weapon to have around to save time if you have to build environments....
A long, long drive today - and to pass the time, I found myself concentrating on the song lyrics of whatever was on. This does pass the time quite nicely as the miles go by, and there is always the chance of some humour to be had in the form of the odd Mondegreen. However, today, there was more than that for me. That golden-throated seventies pierriot Leo Sayer's 'Moonlighting' came on and I got to thinking...
This is a song about two young people running away to Gretna Green to get married. That much is quite easily understood by the time that you have listened to the song, complete with the daft vocal inflections he puts in ("My mother would have lost her mind", for example) but it raised some interesting questions for me. There is mention of the van he has had resprayed, because he figures the disguise is worth it - "when they go missing they're going to look for the van first". Isn't this just a little over the top for 1974? Does he expect police helicopters chasing him up the M6 to Gretna? Or did they indeed in days of old, have roadblocks to prevent the randy sassenach from marrying in their fine country?
If we assume then, that these two are between 16 and 18 - are they 'moonlighting' to get married or are they running away together to start a new life together in - er, Scotland? I'm confused and frustrated by what the song is telling me - "They're losing everything, but it means they'll stay toooo-gether" - are they actually coming home again as man and wife (Is it too cynical of me to say that they are indeed losing everything by marrying that young anyway?) - are they going to be shunned by everyone ("They're losing all their friends")? The deep dissatisfaction I have felt after listening to this song is that he does convey the minutae of doing a runner quite well (her bag is bursting at the seams) but never actually saying why they have to do it in the first place? Is she pregnant? I don't recall it being that difficult in 1974 to shack up with your boyfriend aged 16+ if that is what you wanted to do?
Well, that much was enough to ignite my curiosity of Mr Sayer and his somewhat erratic songwriting abilities (after all , he wrote most of Roger Daltrey's first solo album which wasn't - er- that bad) so I thought I'd youtube the daft clown. Yep, I was right, he wore a clown's outfit on TOTP in 1974 performing "I won't let the show go on". But it wasn't all bad - surely, he is ripe for rehabilitation as a performer and artist, no? I mean, "When I need you" got me all gropy-teenager'd at the disco in the 70's, and "Long Tall Glasses" was a bit of a bopper, no? Leo, come back into the fold. Sit down, and tell us all about that nasty Adam Faith who made you do all those idiotic things in the name of fame. Leo - do we need a comeback album?
Then, just as I was warming to the idea.....I saw this:
I've always been an advocate of 'one good bellylaugh a day' being the best medicine you can wish for, and here, I appear to have stumbled on a week's supply. The very idea that Linda Ronstadt would appear on his TV show in the first place is quite amusing, and then to sing the first line of her version of Tumbling Dice - "People tryin' to rape me" is quite courageous in the context of the less-than-PC 1970's [1], but look at the way she looks at him! She can't quite believe that she has come all this way, leaving behind her buddies in LA (this is a woman who can boast the Eagles as her backing band at one point in her career) to find herself on some third rate TV show with someone she has clearly never heard of. She looks like she has been joined on stage by the class idiot on speed who now wants to Dad-dance [2] with the best looking woman in the room, whilst forgetting that he is choreographically challenged, not to mention six inches shorter than her and has two left feet into the bargain. Clearly, he doesn't make her feel like dancing and frankly who can blame her? Watch the whole clip; it is the dancing that is the utter cringer. He kisses her hand....
Leo mate, I know we can forgive some things from the 70's but that was wrong on too many levels. Hunt down Terry Jacks and David Dundas and, I don't know - do an album or something.
[1] And Linda, while we're at it, what on earth possessed you to try to out-misogynise Mr Jagger and Mr Richards by changing the first line to "People tryin' to rape me, always think I'm crazy"? What on earth was wrong with singing the original ? Rape, fer chrissakes? Were you throwing a stalker party or something? [2] Did someone tell him to dance to the beat of a "Different Drum", perhaps. Thank you....here all week, laydeesangennelmen, here all week.
Why do we kick the living sh*t out of our monopoly suppliers (BT and the various water companies) to the point where they can't fart without some "OFBOLOX" investigation, yet we continue to allow Asda and Tesco to steal with alacrity from people's shopping baskets ?
This story (link) detailing the manipulation of prices by the (big?) two in the run-up to christmas shows that the end-game in competition results in an absolute limitation of choice for the consumer and a situation that is almost identical to a cartel.
As someone who delights in buying eggs [1] from the market (33% saving at the very least) and fruit and veg from the same market (and the only difference is that you don't have the pesky cellophane wrapping to contend with - saving 40%) I like to think I'm doing my bit to support the ONLY alternative left to the supermarkets.
But back to my original point. Broadband (I nearly said telephone there, but I can't recall the last time I used a landline) - there are a single pair of wires entering your premises that BT own. I can't get Talk Talk to own those wires, can I? I can't persuade Talk Talk or PlusNet to provide me with FTTC, can I? There is a single water pipe entering your premises that the water company own. It isn't as if I have any choice other than Anglian water or Severn Trent. I think that if you were to move the people that run OFCOM and OFWAT and set these watchdogs on the supermarkets, then ASDA and Tesco might think twice before abusing their customers.
[1] Eggs - Half a dozen large free range eggs from the market =£1, from [insert robberbaron store name in here]= £1.50
I write this with a heavy heart, knowing that it will be seen as an attack on the teaching profession (and I use the word 'profession' advisedly) who do a quite amazing job educating our children - when they are there. I refer of course to the concept of a snow day.
I'd like to know this : why are teachers and people in education the only people who get 'snow days'? I've seen all the arguments from the teaching establishment during the latest spate of bad weather, and I understand all the arguments about "if police say only make emergency journeys then I can't make my staff risk coming in" and "ice and snow on the premises can make it difficult to comply with health and safety regulations" but they always lead to the same conclusion - closed schools, and hugely inconvenienced parents.
I don't know of another 'profession' that would close my place of business because of bad weather and tell me not to come in lest I endanger my life getting to work. Teachers choose to live where they live, the same as the rest of us do, and if that involves a commute, then that is their choice, surely? The LEA didn't decree that they should live within walking distance of the school, so it is the teacher's own choice that they live that far away from the school. So, I don't think that argument holds water. Or ice. Or snow. The teacher, of their own free will, holds the commuting risk of their own volition.
Secondly, why can't the teacher - like they used to do - turn up at their local school and effectively be a supply teacher? The excuse used here is that you can't have complete strangers turning up at school purporting to be a teacher. I cannot believe that this is valid - surely an LEA has a register of teachers that are local to each school? A simple list that a headteacher will have that says "Mrs Jones attends this school in case of bad weather". Teachers have identity cards already?
For years, teachers have been complaining that they aren't taken as 'professionals' any more. Try showing, as a body of people, some commitment to the children you purport to educate on the days that you are required to attend school.
And for pity's sake, stop demeaning yourself and the rest of your 'trade' by not making the same effort as the rest of society to cope with bad weather. Spend some of your winter holiday in Canada. And learn.
Forgive the use of Mr Fry's lyrics, but the hardest part of this lark is finding a suitably witty title. I am struck by the rabble-rousing angry mob tactics of the media and the politicians lately with regard to bankers, and more expressly their bonuses, and how desperately wide of the mark they are. It is a fact of life - it has been for some time - that performance related pay is an easy way for banks and other financial services institutions to reward the staff that do well and to carrot-and-stick those that don't perform. Let's call this a 'bonus', shall we? It is part of every employees remuneration package and it is earned, one way or another.
Why then, does the frankly nasty, tawdry old man in front of me in the queue at the bank the other day decide to score points off the poor girl by berating her for her 'bonus' and the link he has - erroneously - made between her bonus and his lack of a pension increase? Did he arrive at that conclusion himself? No. He read it in the paper, or is dim enough to believe a politician.
It is the same at every election time. This time it is the banker. Previous candidates for pillorying have been, variously, Fat Cats, Benefit Cheats, Captains of Industry, Football Hooligans - every election brings a new villain to the table.
Please, by all means, banker bash all you want, but please use some intelligence when having a pop at bank clerks. They weren't trading in sub-prime securitisations, they were just counting your money.
Hello children. Today, we are going to look at how the English language evolves. Now, as we all know, there is no English equivalent for the german word "shadenfreude", so we have adopted it into our mother tongue - this is called a "loanword". There is a branch of irony (ask a grown-up what that means - although do avoid asking an American grown-up or anyone called Alanis) that I feel deserves it's own word, so today, boys and girls, I am creating the word Ironfreude, the joy at finding that someone who has been slighted by someone getting their own back in an ironic way.
Now for an example of this, we are going to look at that nice Mr Branson's desire to acquire a high street presence and look a little closer at his right hand person, Jayne-Anne Gadhia's background. Jayne-Anne used to work for Virgin Direct, and then moved to the RBS to do - oh, to run mortgage stuff, I think. It is said that RBS, being a dour and unprogressive bunch didn't care much for an English person telling them how to lend money and so, Jayne-Anne moved back to Virgin. Then she and that nice Mr Branson attempted to acquire the Northern Rock when it got into it's troubles [*] but they failed to persuade the government to let them have it. Nasty Government. So, having failed to acquire the Northern Rock, and having bought ^h^h^h^h^h established their own banking license, they are now looking for a high street distribution method. That is a bit like having your own sweetshop in every town. What fun!
Ironfreude, then, is the humour found in the discovery that the RBS is being forced to sell 316 branches under EU competition law, and finding that Jayne-Anne/Virgin Money is stepping forward to try to buy them.
It isn't very often that I find banks funny, but I do love the idea that the most aggressive and acquisitive upstart in the UK banking sector, the RBS (who I have been with since the year dot - the Hotel California of the banking world - when they were Williams and Glyns and they used to send me cheques back with my statements every month. Proper customer service, that was) finally have to sell off some branches to someone they decided to....part company with.
And that, children, is how we get new words in this language of ours. Geoffrey, Bungle? Shall we go and meet Zippy at the gay bar?
[*] Am I alone in blaming that Peston fool for creating the run on that bank? Where is responsible journalism when you need it? In the pub with the same policeman that is never around when you need him either, I expect. Perhaps the teacher joins them every time it snows, I don't know....
I am a fortysomething technologist (that sounds so much better than computer consultant, don't you think?), resident in the UK.
This is my collection of things that continue to astonish me, make me laugh or - on rare occasions, make me a bit cross.
