Here I am again. Middle of the night and I’m baby-sitting a database migration – 70 gigabytes of ones and zeros moving silently from Frankfurt to Hamburg. I’ve done all I can; now I have to watch and wait, just in case there’s a problem – when this is done and the Germans have got their very organised act together I’ll have one less thing to worry about. It’ll be theirs – no more come-backs, no more call-outs. Just one more step on the way to working myself out of a job. I usually have a side-kick to chat to when I do this sort of thing but the powers that be have decided that he’ll be needed in the morning to rectify any mistakes I make tonight. Hmm – I’ve been doing this kinda stuff every week for the last 10 years and if there are any mistakes they won’t be mine.
The forums are full of the same old, same old questions and the blogs are fairly static. Gareth reminds me that there are 11 days, 21 hours, 55 minutes and 21 seconds until the opening of the Trout season on the River Taff – thanks Gareth; that really helps at a time like this 🙂 and I see that Warren has stopped posting on Water Lines for some mysterious reason – shame, that was shaping up to be a very enjoyable and educational read. I wonder if I could persuade him to contribute here?….
Masochism dictates that I read over some of my old posts and I’m appalled at some of my typos and grammatical errors so I spend a while mending my mistakes and try to remember the true spirit of the experience that lead me to write them in the first place – then I stumble across The Cruelty of Chronos which brings a tear to this crusty, cynical old eye and I truely remember what fishing is all about.
I wander out on to the patio for a smoke and I see the fog, clinging, freezing to the branches of the old Crab-Apple. I’m struck by the silence and reminded that my recent hopes of an early end to winter are mis-placed and the glory days of May are way down the road in an uncertain future. I remember soft nights like this in far from happy times in far away places when fear was an unexpected noise and relief was the realisation that nature had wandered closer than is good for any creature of the night; and I remember the glorious Hebridean nights in the company of friends and Sherry Spinners and taking a wild Brownie on the dry at midnight on Cuckoo Loch.
It’s 03:15 and I’m bored – much more bored than you are, reading this – and my state of the art software tells me there are 2 hours and 51 endless minutes before I can even contemplate going to bed so, I’ll leave you knowing that this post is almost as pointless as my work here tonight.
See you on the dole queue [apologies Tom]