The third set of personal questions is taken from some posted by Nichole to the MSCList in February 1998. The original post requested no details be given with the responses, but as this is a document of record, I'm going to give reasons.
The offer stands. If you want your response to this form posted here, then drop me a line and I'll see what I can do. My address is [email protected] (or via mail me).
Possibly Bill Clinton, possibly Tony Blair. Maybe Julia Salinger, or even Eddie Mair. No, not a deliberate rhyme scheme.
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, the second part of Douglas Adams' Hitch-hiker trilogy in five parts.
On the grounds that I've not seen the absolute classic movies that are older than me, I'm nominating that art masterpiece The Piano.
Relaity? Get a spell checker. Reality? Used to be a friend of mine, but now I just quiz it to find what it's hiding under there.
They're not me. Different from me.
I can be happy. I can be quite naive. I can be mature. I can be those three things in such a short space of time that they seem to coincide.
A small, quiet, solar (or wind) powered fast personal transporter.
People who lie to other people, lead them up the garden path and know they're doing it.
Read today's paper, cover to cover.
Getting my own web space launched, and inflicting my long posts on all of you.
History is your story. Tomorrow is as much mine as anyone else's.
They're loyal, fun, and know when I'm making a bad joke and pretend to laugh along. And that if they cross me once I'll forgive; but if they cross me twice they're dead in the water.
Boredom. Most of the time.
Britain: English history. The aftermath of empire. Not being able to choose between Empire and Europe. Not being sure of our national place in the scheme of things. Ignorance of so many facts.
The majesty of the northern lights.
Be honest with yourself.
A phoenix. Rebirth by fire.
The hedgemony of the motor car.
Keeping them from the path they want to follow.
Attwood's Handmaiden's Tale; Thatcher's Downing Street Years; CS Lewis' Last Battle; Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
I decline to answer.
A mix of peace and majesty, with a smackerel of awe.
A circle with a bit missing at the top right.
A pulsing, throbbing sound that's bearable at soft volumes for a short while, but quickly grows to be thoroughly intolerable.
Absolute, total silence, punctuated by the very occasional pin dropping onto another pin.
Carry on as normal.
St John's. D'oh!
Cricket, lovely cricket.
Nil-nil.
Tedium
Erudition
Started.
Being seen as a screw-up.
The massive northern lights storm in March 1989.
I have no idea.
Theft of someone else's creditable work.
Miss Rickets, my teacher when 11-12.
Perseverence.
Patience. The ability to wait without becoming frustrated.
Honest laughter, or even a clear smile.
The European Commission and Parliament.
Pernicious.
Calming.
Passing through British customs and immigration; whether going in or out.
When in possession of some important information and needing to tell someone else.
All of them? Especially the last one I've seen.
Solipsistic, sadly.
Social awkwardness.
Polystyrene packaging especially, but packaging in the computer industry in general is absurd.
Writing Liberty about the pressures of being a DJ on a rising digital radio network.
A fourth party that will finish off the job of sweeping away the currect bipolar approach that will be commenced by a third party. And multi-member Senate and Congressional constituencies elected by STV would help a long way. This answer also applies to England.
Society re-discovering that youth is not the greatest virtue.
Being seen as a screw-up.
My answer changes with the wind.
Someone with whom I can have a conversation that veers between serious and flippant within four sentences.
Where's the exit.
Something along these lines:
Alison Q. Cat. D'oh squared.
December 5, 1995.
Pre-millennial tension.
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