This is my diary. It is neither interesting nor complete. It is more of a journal. I simply wrote what happened, when it happened and when I had the time to write it. Nothing very interesting happened but if you wish to take a quick look it may give you an idea of what my life is (or was) like.
Starting at 26 of February 2000, and with many holes and gaps.
Use the top bar for navigation, or select a journal below.
February to September 2000
Index
October to January 2000/2001, in India
Index
February to December 2001
Index
January 2002 XHTML XML
Index
2003 XML Index (Coming
once I work out how)
Note: XML files uses XSLT and requires a browser capable of viewing XSLT and
XML. Internet Explorer 6 or higher is recommended, Netscape 6 and higher will
also work.
Complete Contents and Index
IMPORTANT: The following is intended for the use and viewing of approved persons only and may contain information that is confidential, privileged or unsuitable for overly sensitive persons with low self-esteem, no sense of humour or irrational religious beliefs. Any dissemination, distribution or copying of this work is not authorised (either explicitly or implicitly) and constitutes an irritating social faux pas. Unless the word 'absquatulation' has been used in its correct context somewhere other than in this warning, it does not have any legal or grammatical use and may be ignored. No animals were harmed in the creation of this and a minimum of Microsoft software was used. Those of you with an overwhelming fear of the unknown will be gratified to learn that there is no hidden message revealed by reading this warning backwards.
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days,
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the closet lays.
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right and Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all - He knows - HE knows!
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coopt we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
- Omar Khayyam (E. Fitzgerald)
full poem
-
-