A work deadline looms. Tomorrow evening I can laugh heartily and breathe a sigh of relief as our deliverable goes out to Japan. Actually, while we will go to the pub after work to celebrate, in reality letting the QA department get it's hands on the stuff will probably result in a heap of things to fix.

The last two days were spent wrestling with an installation of the UNIX versions of our software and even some system administration stuff. A bit frustrating, but I'm nearly done now.

My mother, who suffers from some sort of dementia, has twenty four hour care now. This is expensive and means my sister has to co-ordinate six carers -- quite an administrative overhead -- but mum seems to thrive on it. She's talking more and generally has a bit more spark about her. I'm concerned that the money will run out, but for the moment, she's happy.

And so are we. Or at least I am. Whenever I visited her I was always nervous when leaving her. It just seemed like asking for trouble, so I'm relieved that this is not an issue anymore.

I suppose it's a self evident truth, but when it comes to things like hygiene or manners, people always think that the amount of effort they put in is just right. People who are more lax are grubby or rude and people who are more strict are old fashioned or Howard Hughes types (Howard Hughes, for our younger listeners, was obsessed with infection and disease. So much so that in the latter years of his life he holed up in a Los Vegas hotel, taking over a whole floor, and refused to expose himself to the outside world).

Some things are better not thought about though. Sometimes I can get squeamish about door handles in public toilets, but only if I'm thinking about it. And after an episode involving some of Paddy's crap and a hungry dog, I'm not so keen on pooches either.

I do hate people who are so keen not to smell that they douse themselves with unguents and sprays that would make a Billy goat puke (which the dog would then proceed to eat) and they wind up smelling like the research lab in ICI or DuPont instead.

Scented candles and air fresheners -- ugh, enough!.

Our minister for finance said today that the boom was over. Well yes. The ninety odd people that used to work in my company could tell you that. The six hundred plus workers in IFI who get layed off tomorrow could tell you that. It seems minister, that you can only admit it as you are entering discussions about pay agreements and social spending with the unions and employer's groups. You couldn't say it last May for instance when there was an election to be won. It must have come as a big surprise to you when you got back to your office after re-election to discover that things weren't as rosy as you'd thought.

My commiserations.

I have no costume. I don't think I ever did. I can't remember going trick or treating. I don't think that it was even called that, we seem to have adopted that name from the US. I do remember the covert bangers (fireworks being illegal) and the bonfires and the fire brigade being called out (not to us, but generally), but I don't remember dressing up, or going in search of goodies.

As I left work this evening, listening to the sound of fireworks going off someone remarked (not seriously) that it was like Beirut. I couldn't help thinking that it didn't really, even though I knew he was indulging in a little hyperbole. But what struck me most was how old fashioned the comparison sounded. He might as well have said Dresden, or London during The Blitz. But Baghdad or Bali would have sounded to serious, so what else should he have said?

I'm going downstairs now to eat all the crap that no-one called 'round for.

Monkey nut anyone?