Showing posts with label laughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label laughter. Show all posts

Thursday, 10 September 2026

A Picasso No One Can Repaint

The Mad Hatter's Drawing Board

Every good farce needs its Mad Hatter, and mine arrives armed with a drawing board. That drawing board, the one we have returned to many times over the last six weeks, was the receptacle of imperceptible scrawls by a mad scientist whose antics do not, on the surface, look like a frenzy of demented absentmindedness coupled with a sense of all-knowing confidence.

No, what comes out at the end is what makes this a Mad Hatter you could, in your complete docility, be persuaded to strangle. The task itself was simple enough to state: to improve laptop performance in a tightly controlled environment.

There we were at the end of last week, on the cusp of completing this intensive work of art, in the sense that the automation now had snapshots, verbose logging, and user-initiated rollbacks, all at my insistence, achieved in stages of improvement that registered close to fifty versions of the code.

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content. (Click to enlarge.)

Two Questions

Then two questions, from different perspectives, quite literally upset the applecart. The first was why something that could be done by policy was being implemented by scripts. It was possible because the architect, the same mad scientist, had tinkered with the engine enforcing policy, in what I saw as a neat piece of coding.

The second question concerned supportability, to which I responded that, although there was a spectrum of knowledge available, the code presented a level of complexity that no one would grasp beyond tweaking it. My own suspicion, if I am honest, was that the code would eventually be ripped out rather than developed and maintained.

I suggested it was a work of art, the progeny of the architect, and that you will not get another painter to daub on a Picasso. A good analogy, but probably too suggestive in its reading, because the architect was soon back to trying to fix it. What resulted was a new design for what the code did, and we were back to square one with deployment by policy and preference; twenty-three tweaks had become ninety-two.

Policy Versus Scripts

The policy-versus-scripts argument comes down to something quite practical. Policy carries comprehensible text and well-known, configurable settings that are recognised right across the industry when it comes to endpoint devices.

Scripts, by contrast, are bespoke by nature, and far too many of them end up impossible to maintain or are simply left to function with their faults until something new can replace them. I am firmly on the side of adapting the concepts as designed and moving them into an implementation that others can actually support.

Skimming through the document, I could already see problems, some easy to correct, but others requiring a total rethink. The concept remained the same in terms of what was to be delivered, but there was a paradigm shift in the implementation that could no longer be done in the phases the scripts were best suited to.

A Promise Disappointed

Worse still, the settings from the scripts did not transcribe directly into policy text; I needed a reference website to derive the policy text for each required setting. Then came the realisation that many of those settings from the script had no commensurate policy text at all.

It did not help; it merely exacerbated the amount of unnecessary work that could have been done right the first time. I sense a kind of aversion to explaining or describing anything that has been done, with emails and Microsoft Teams chats substituting for this essential piece of communication that I have requested many times before.

At the end, an XML file that could have saved me hours of work was in the wrong format for ingestion. None of it was helpful; a promise at first sight was, in truth, a total disappointment deserving of excoriation, but I am too polite for that. I have a pattern-recognition insight into things that suggests an Originally Conditioned Distraction (OCD) to fix. At a glance, I saw that an XML delimiter had not been properly set.

Meticulous to a Fault

Perhaps I am meticulous to a fault, but it is to forestall and arrest faults before they cause issues. Erring on the side of caution always trumps bludgeoning through like a bull let loose in a china shop. Many may not agree, but you do not build a forty-year IT career on being reckless, especially after learning from interesting or costly mistakes earlier on.

This remains a work in progress. I am hoping the transition from scripts to policy will hold, though there are the various unhelpful gaps I have referred to the architect. So, I await the response, before chivalry from the Middle Ages requests the violent disembowelment of someone mercifully dispatched before they wreak additional havoc on the peace of our noble workplace.

Related blogs

Blog - Authority Without Consent

Blog - Badly Designed Systems Are Just That

Blog - You Do Not Get A Painter to Fix Another's Art

A Gemini Notebook AI Podcast on this blog

Monday, 10 August 2026

Badly Designed Systems Are Just That

Learning to Laugh

Life can be a rather humorous existence, or at least, I tend to laugh at myself more than I berate myself. It is a healthy disposition to have. What fools we have been in too many things, though hopefully we have refused to allow those things to define us.

Consider the pressure to deliver a product that was less than ready for primetime, yet pushed towards deployment by the powers that be. This came after misgivings and concerns that eventually became valid and were proved so too.

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content. (Click to enlarge.)

A Premise That Failed

I found myself testing a premise that did not work. Every time I made an adjustment, I did not see the expected result. When I was asked to put it out immediately, I had one inescapable point: what is not working cannot be deployed. I had a slight window of protest, insisting that until it worked on my system, it could go nowhere.

When I eventually got the working parts to work, I realised my error had been using a similarly named old component when the new one was intended. The urge from one end had beclouded my ability to concentrate. Once I discovered what the issue was, I sternly suggested that people should ease off and wait for my update.

Back to the Drawing Board

The next morning, we saw some results, along with the proof of why the other parts would not work. We had the knowledge, but the architects, in their wisdom and hubris, thought they knew better.

Did I not write about this last month, when I set out why technical authority without social consent produces brittle solutions? The whole process returned to the drawing board, yet once again it missed the essential part of engagement that would take a great concept to a successful deployment.

Then came another issue. I had written a letter to express my frustration at being unable to secure a slot for a review. The website presented a user experience you barely wanted to relive once, let alone many times over a couple of weeks.

An Unwinnable Lottery

As I recorded all the issues that fed what had looked like an unwinnable lottery for access, I clicked on another link within the interface, only to find that a slot had already been booked on my behalf, though I could find no record of being informed of that appointment.

I did, however, find one message that allowed the rescheduling of an earlier slot; but I attributed that to another booking I had received a few days before. What was missing from the information exchanges was any indication of what each message particularly pertained to.

When Systems Forget the User

How much better it could have been if they had not assumed they were the only ones communicating with you, and that the possibility of multiple appointments scheduled within a short timeframe might exacerbate the confusion about what was what.

This discovery meant my letter of frustration did not have to be sent. It was also a relief that the said slot had not passed, as the alternative arrangements made would not have been realised for almost three weeks.

The Wry Smile

Essentially, badly designed systems are just that: badly designed, no matter how they seem to work. The end user is simply left with concerns, frustrations and misgivings, entirely out of the frame of what affects them the most, because they are not properly considered as part of why, and for whom, the system was designed.

Then, for each of these episodes, when things are not as bad as they once seemed, there is a wry smile, some mirth and laughter, and even that urge to step out for a walk for having been so worked up earlier.

A Gemini Notebook AI Podcast on this blog

Sunday, 28 December 2025

Seven Years of Hope, Faith, and Love

Finding My Own Path

Unconventional would probably define much of what can be said about my perspective on life and living, not out of trying to be different or rebellious, but seeking out what gives me purpose, joy, and fun.

Nothing in my work life resembles what others before me have experienced. I chose a path driven by curiosity, exploring what interests me, and finding opportunities where I was recognised for my abilities and how I might change things. It has been turbulent, successful, and rewarding.

The Pursuit of Happiness

Yet, it is in the pursuit of happiness that I might have been the most misunderstood. It is as though living your own life becomes a challenge to others, through no fault of your own, viewed from cultural or societal perspectives.

However, I do not want to make this a weighty piece of psychological reasoning, as it is a day of celebration. Reflecting on how finding someone special can change your world, that is an undeniable fact.

Seven Years Ago

Seven years ago, I met someone whom I would not have initially approached. They came to say hello, and we started a conversation. As we sat at the bar talking, the world faded away; an undeniable connection between us was established.

We met again for lunch before parting ways, one thinking it was a fleeting holiday encounter, and the other wondering what might develop. I saw a future after nearly a decade of silent grief at the death of someone I loved, but I was too timid to pursue that relationship boldly. In my youth, I saw obstacles, barriers, hurdles, and excuses; we all suffered for it.

A Leap of Faith

When this unexpected turn came, as I was not even actively seeking it, it felt different. It was new. I didn't hesitate; I seized the moment. A long-distance relationship, nurtured against all odds, fulfilling in countless ways, grounded in hopes fuelled by a dreamlike imagination that only living can make real.

Every moment is lived and cherished in the realisation that I am truly, madly, deeply, and wonderfully loved. We have laughed, cried, fought, and made peace; struggled and triumphed, but most importantly, we discovered the power of companionship, trust, love, joy, and the enduring strength of desire in making things happen.

A Happy Anniversary

To all of this, I wish you, Brian, a very happy seventh anniversary. You mean the whole wide world to me. I love you dearly and thank you for your indescribably unconditional love.

Monday, 10 June 2024

Dancing with their babies

Read with Parental Guidance

Repartee is an art of conversation that is quick, witty, and usually humorous, to establish it effectively is to leave such nuggets of memory that cannot be forgotten even as in your retelling of it, you might lose the effect it had at the point of your original hearing.

It is not essentially truth or fact, it could be an intelligent or mocking play on words, the knowledge of geography or any other thing is not particular when it is ideas set alight in directions that cannot predetermined. As for innuendo, there might be plenty of it, you take your rib-cracking laughs and your jaw-aching cackles to confession at a much later time.

In a conversation that might have been overheard, who can say who was involved? Selby and Niko have these exchanges all the time with one accusing the other of leading the other astray, the saint is further away from the sinner even as the former presents innocence better.

And so…

Selby: I trust he had a great experience in Kenya, I’m sure he has very interesting stories to tell you all about.

Niko: I don’t want to hear his stories. The thought is shocking enough. He won’t be able to complete confession in the allotted time.

Selby: [Much later, recalling the tail end of that conversation] I laughed when I read your response.

Niko: He was most likely at the receiving end of some Masai Mara.

Selby: They are probably still jumping in him. [If this needs explaining, you do not need to know.]

[Niko is in shock and laughter at the same time, every corruptly shocking interpretation of whatever he meant paints the situation in too vivid detail for polite conversation. Our friend has a reputation that would make pages on which it is written red with embarrassment and the ends curl almost in revulsion and indescribable glee.]

[At which time, Selby is half-weeping and Niko is proverbially rolling on the floor, and Selby is not done yet, he rues his big mouth, but you'll love his free expression, almost naïve and truly deadpan, like Rose Nylund from The Golden Girls.]

Selby: Did he have the whole dancing troupe?

[At which point, Niko had a picture of a line of men of enviable renown, starved of it and ready to find the totally ecstatic excitement of lascivious relief at the sight of a starfish with the unmistakable groans of the earth moving violently. No fault was left untouched; the rift cracked open to its fullest extent. It is East Africa, after all.]

Niko: You’ll have to ask him. [The stories Niko didn’t want to hear had already been told by Selby either like a witness of the event, or because Selby has had some experiences in the African bush that he has hinted at but never really told. Farm boys hosing down fires like the fire brigade.]

Is that, you wonder, a ticket to Seren-get-him?

Wednesday, 10 January 2024

Little quirks for smirks

Smirking for coffee

I just spooned some demerara sugar into a highball glass which is essentially a typical drinking glass with a thick base, straight-up sides, and probably about 2.5 inches or about 8 centimetres tall. I smirked and sniggered at the quirky things I have done, as the sugar was meant for a coffee mug.

The kettle was just switched on, the routine of making instant coffee rather than tea that used to be my comfort beverage for the morning. As soon as I noticed, I took my big mug out of the sink, poured out the water, and tipped the sugar out of the glass into the mug before adding a teaspoonful of instant coffee. I stick to NESCAFÉ® Original Instant Coffee, whatever the cost.

Sometimes, I make filter coffee and for that, I would set up my milk frothing machine as it is never really right with ordinary milk or evaporated milk which is a holdover from my time in the Netherlands where they use coffee milk, a creamier full-fat milk for coffee.

Interestingly, some consider coffee a drug, I have heard a preacher boast about never tasting alcohol or coffee, maybe it is an abomination to others, but I do like the taste of coffee even as my mother has tried to prevail upon me to ditch both coffee and sugar. It doesn’t work for her; it works for me.

And this is funny

I have put it all down to quirks, nothing to concern myself too much about since I might have done many of these things before, and this is not a result of aging. Forgetting I already have my glasses on, I attempt to put on the spare only to realise I could not. Wearing an undervest back-to-front and that slight constriction at the neck is an alert to it.

The other day, I had a jumper on, then a jacket, but before donning my overcoat for the cold outdoors, I reached for another jacket and my arm went down a sleeve, it felt too tight. Very funny, I surmised inwardly. You do not need another jacket on.

I might say my name, but I do not call myself names for doing silly things. I guess what matters is being aware of things rather than forgetting and being observed by someone else like Brian who still ribs me no end about when I did the glasses skit. Living with your quirks is just one way of being able to make fun of yourself.

Tuesday, 29 August 2023

Dare I learn to laugh again?

Where is my laughter?

The other day, I wrote about being sad, the sadness about many things as each aspect of adversity seemed to pronounce a lien on my sense of wellbeing. Much as I have struggled with things, I have pressed forward, not with the speed I wanted nor with the progress I expected, but I have kept looking for ways to encourage myself and refuse to allow the negative to take too much space in my space.

Blog: Sadly Sad Sadness (July 2023)

I had forgotten how to laugh, a strengthening power of joy had left me morose and concerned, preoccupied with many things and oblivious to the good, the beautiful, the wonderful, and the blessings that greet every waking day. Even if I deny it, some self-pity was creeping up on my patch, and I needed to get it off my lawn.

Bring back the joy

And Nehemiah continued, “Go and celebrate with a feast of rich foods and sweet drinks, and share gifts of food with people who have nothing prepared. This is a sacred day before our Lord. Don’t be dejected and sad, for the joy of the Lord is your strength! [Nehemiah 8:10 (NLT)]

The part of the joy of the Lord being my strength was registering in my thoughts for a while, but I was unsure of what I needed to do to begin to enjoy the benefits of this medicine of laughter with the healing qualities it presents.

Laughter for the pain

I have written about this many times before, when my Fentanyl patch fell off one Sunday probably when I was at church, the pain of cancer searingly deep came in waves almost too unbearable that as I got home still unaware of why the pain was there and then I began to laugh, not cry, but laugh as I realised how the laughter helped release endorphins that held the pain at bay until the newly affixed patch took hold.

Another experience of laughter was a few years ago when I met a pastor in a park, and we began to chat. He said some incredulous and interesting things to me and about me, much of which not only surprised me but were also as unbelievable to be considered impossible. I chuckled and even laughed just as Sarah in the bible did when she was told at the age of 90 that she would have a child.

Laughter for the winning

Laughter sometimes is an expression of unrestrained vulnerability that can leave in contortions of near embarrassment which when shared with others is a different kind of geniality, communication, and camaraderie. We do need more laughter in our lives as expressions of happiness and more so, joy, a kind of feeling of wellness that overwhelms gloom and presents a new kind of perspective on things.

I know it would do me good, it would heal a lot of pain, it will drown away sorrows and uproot the foothold of sadness, it would lift my countenance and I hold my head up high and in it will come the strength to know that the seasons are changing for a bountiful harvest where the windows of heaven are open for the pouring out of blessing. Delirium, you make think, let’s laugh adversity out of our lives.

Blog: Laughter follows my hospital visit (October 2009)

Blog: Thought Picnic: My laughter and my pain (July 2013)

Blog: Opinion: Where addiction and tragedy can confuse issues (April 2017)

Blog: And I laughed like Sarah (July 2021)

Blog: I was a hostage to pain (September 2022)

Watching a sermon preached by Reverend Richard Roberts he shared his testimony of one day owing no one and the next when he took over the reins of Oral Roberts University, they were $60m in debt and at risk of closing, how the joy of the Lord changed everything and everything changed.

The Joy Of The Lord // Rev. Richard Roberts // May 22, 2019 // Jay Eberly Ministries

Saturday, 18 June 2022

A spoon of snigger

Roe your bread

I just sniggered earlier at myself without mouthing the words that spoke out loudly in my head, “Silly me.” There is a quick snack I like to make, getting wholemeal pitta bread and cutting it into strips with a pair of scissors before warming the strips in the microwave oven for a minute and depending on how much is left in the container and whether I need to keep it for another serving, I dip the strips or use a table knife to put taramasalata on the strips and eat.

I first had this as an entrée (starter) in a Greek restaurant probably 15 or so years ago, and it is good easy comfort food with the contrasts of hot and cold, along with tangy and bland. I cannot speak to its nutritious value, but it is Mediterranean and so, we can assume that is good.

A laughing dog

Whilst the strips were being warmed in the microwave oven, I had taken the container out of the fridge and laid it on my coffee table, I then returned to the kitchen to get a table knife and I was already in the living room when I realised, I had a spoon instead of a knife, that is why I sniggered.

In the many times I do laugh at myself, the thought of the dish that ran away with the spoon occurred to me from the Hey Diddle Diddle nursery rhyme, I can only wonder whoever wrote it must have sniggered at the absurdity of it all, a cat a fiddle, a cow jumping over the moon and the dish running away with the spoon. To the audience of one, the dog that saw it all and laughed at the sport.

Knife and spoon

All that silliness inspired this as first, I had one pitta that spooned taramasalata onto with a knife, as to have knifed it onto the pitta would have given the impression of a stabbing, I guess in this case, you spoon with a knife. Then the second pitta in strips was dipped in the container as this was my third helping from the container and there wasn’t much left to spoon.

I am surprised I picked up a spoon from my cutlery tray in the kitchen drawer as the spoons are in the middle, the knives to the right, the forks to the left and the teaspoons at the bottom. It was neither a case of absentmindedness nor forgetfulness, more of a momentary absence of awareness which triggered a feeling of mirth and without a cat, a cow, or a dog to enter my circus of levity, I eventually walked away with a knife and not a spoon.

Note: I could not find a rendition of the nursery rhyme in the way I was taught, and I remember it, none of the versions I heard on YouTube are remotely close to what I remember. I guess I need to get on with my piano lessons and play this out myself.

Sunday, 28 July 2013

Thought Picnic: My laughter and my pain

Laughing through the pain
It was a Sunday evening as I relaxed I realised I was in serious pain, much more painful than usual. I was on pain medication, an analgesic, an opioid and then a Fentanyl patch that was supposed to stick to my skin for at least 72 hours but sometime around the 30-hour mark, it had fallen off and with it came the excruciating pain of cancer that had no description than the fact that it took all comfort away and presented agony with no respite.
The only reaction I could have to this discovery was to apply a new patch and I later learnt I could use an adhesive tape to keep the patch secure.
However, for immediate relief, I began to laugh, deliberately and forcefully until it was like I was delirious, there, my friend thought I had lost it, but the laughter for all that was known about its therapeutic qualities was releasing endorphins that allowed a modicum of pain relief, for me it worked, but I was laughing through the pain.
Laughing off the pain
Then more recently, as I was chatting to a good friend about my circumstances, changes that meant I had no home with little resources and my general means running out along with attendant concerns for the immediate future that included the knowledge that making ends meet will be difficult since my contract had ended, I was sanguine.
I chuckled in expectation and even laughed in hope but my friend sensed that I was laughing off the pain, no so much of insincerity but for the absence of the kind of emotion that expresses depression or dejection, things were not as right as they ought to be though sometimes I wonder what is ought and what is not – I am stretched in what I can believe and yet I believe in the midst of apparent and real lack.
The memory of loss dogs me as the hope for gain urges me on, I am able if I find opportunity but like I noted in a blog I wrote in April, titled Hard Times, my choices have become limited, as are my options and the ability to make bold decisions, there is a constraint that accompanies lack that imprisons you in circumstances that only your mind can dare to free you from and maybe good fortune can provide amazing escape from but until then, the day is long, tomorrow never comes and the laughter is one of deep pain.

Wednesday, 21 October 2009

Laughter follows my hospital visit

Back to the hospital

And so I conducted my first visit back to the hospital yesterday under my own steam to have blood taken which would determine the next course of treatment, like additional chemotherapy or how else readings of my blood condition had changed.

When I was leaving the hospital two Fridays ago, I had promised the lady of 85 in my ward that I would visit her and so I bought some chocolates and quite a lot of chocolates for the nurses on the B.06 section of the hospital.

First, I got a blank card where with a thick felt-tipped pen I listed out the 14 names of the nurses and then thanked them for their care, compassion, concern and professionalism, addressing it to the wonderful and amazing nurses of B.06 OLVG.

Mobility by bike and crutches

It is easier to get around on a bicycle but I had to find out how to carry my crutches, I got a marker to mark the points at which the height and elbow grips are set and found I could collapse both crutches to just about 70 cm in length.

I then placed the crutches on the bike load platform which is over the back tyre and held them in place with two heavy-duty elastic bands with grip hooks on either end.

After that I was ready to go, that arrangement was just right, with enough energy, I could get anywhere and when there I could negotiate whatever I had to get to my destination.

Meeting with the nurses

The bloods were done in less than 20 minutes and forthwith I went up to Ward B.06 to see the nurses, this was well before visiting time – apparently the lady had left the Friday before, which was good though I felt bad about not being able to keep my promise.

Immediately, I recognised two nurses, in fact, the first one I saw was the one that gave me a wash, she was off to see a patient, and then I met the one who checked me out and gave her my gifts offering to bring in a Taibo exercise DVD if they felt they were being fed too many chocolates.

One of the doctors walked by the reception and instantly remembered my name, she was happy that I was looking well, and the nurses were grateful, gracious and appreciative, I just felt it was the least I could do and I think every once in a while, I would surprise them with something.

Then I went down to see the Catholic priest that visited me at my bedside, he was called from one of his rounds, we had a chat and again, I felt his visit was very useful and comforting for me and I gave him a little present and made my way home.

I took a long route which allowed me to meditate, sing and edify myself.

Laughing through the pain

Until yesterday evening, each stab of pain or chronic pain was acknowledged with a grimace, a contortion of the face, a grunt or some other reflexive action and I suddenly decided, maybe by inspiration to register every feeling of pain with laughter.

Bizarre, you may say but there is a reason why laughter is supposedly the best medicine, so I laughed through every moment I felt pain, my body being slow to play that game because naturally one defaults to a cry of pain, to purposefully overrule that with determined laughter even when you do not feel like it is interesting.

What I noticed was the pain was no more occupying my thoughts that much and within the 6-hour circle of pain medication where the pain begins to show up after four and a half hours, I have now been able to go 11 and 12 hours respectively between the medications for pain.

When the nurse arrived this morning, he thought the idea of laughter for managing pain was funny but as much as possible I giggled or laughed for the pain. He felt I should have one of my toes checked out when I visit oncology on Friday and he arranged that meeting.

Apart from a few areas where I sometimes need help, like shopping and doing the rubbish, generally, I am coping well at home and also recuperating quite well too.

Thursday, 8 March 2007

Are You Being Served?

They played and we laughed

As time has gone by, English Comedy that has suffered the loss of people who made us laugh with jokes, innuendo, double-entendre and gesticulations that looked dirty, maybe corny but all good family fun. The writers exhibited genius most worthy of emulation and this has hardly been equalled by contemporary fare.

This age of political correctness now makes shows like Mind Your Language, Mixed Blessings, Love Thy Neighbour, The Benny Hill Show, The Kenny Everett Show, Rising Damp, Father Dear Father, The Many Wives of Patrick or the Carry On films less palatable for our 21st Century sensibilities. Yes! Minister and Yes! Prime Minister is timeless.

This morning, I hear with sadness the death of John Inman at 71 made most popular for his role as the slightly limp-wristed Mr. Wilberforce Clayborne Humphries in Are You Being Served ?

The underlying subtext to this all is how for years in the 60s, 70s and into the 80s, we were entertained by many who hid their sexualities and despite the rumours there was a sense of discretion even from tabloids not to touch the private lives of the many who entertained us or made us laugh till when they felt comfortable to come out of the closet.

Popular amongst them now is Sir Elton John and Sir Ian McKellen but one must mention the many that have passed on like Kenny Everett, Sir Nigel Hawthorne, Patrick Cargill, Frankie Howerd and Kenneth Williams.

My thoughts are with his partner - Ron Lynch, family and friends - he was one of the many who truly did make us laugh. Rest In Peace - John Inman .