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The luggage that I checked in for my outbound flight on Tuesday has finally arrived back home in the UK this afternoon. I shan't even bother opening it. Just cut all the labels off and reuse on Monday.
Sat at Manchester Piccadilly waiting for the train home.
"I can put any old tat in my sig, put quotes around it and attribute to someone of whom I've heard, to make it sound true."
- Voltaire/Benjamin Franklin/Anne Frank...
Back at the hotel now. Breaking news: neither my feet nor my back are particularly happy about standing continuously for four hours. Vertical drinking is for the youthful
But it was good to meet a bunch of old faces and some new.
One bloke's wife had tagged along. She's doing a PhD in forensic linguistics. Her specific area of research is into methods of analysing online chat transcripts to determine when grooming of young people by potential abusers is occurring; she's currently focussing particularly on games like Call of Duty.
It's one of those things that sounds a bit Big Brotherish, but you can't really object to the intended applications, even as it leaves you wondering what further applications might emerge in the hands of the wrong kind of government
But she was very nice, so at least we'll know it was all meant for the best as we're loaded into the vans and carted off due to an algorithmic anomaly
Murrain of beasts all day today here - not pleasant. However it did dry up for me to take an evening trip to Loughborough and for Mrs Covbob and CovBaby to go and see the Diwali lights in Leicester.
Hotel breakfast buffet starts at eight on Saturday mornings. Only in a town whose economy is built on stag and hen parties could a hotel get away with such a late start
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