Transmissions from the satellite heart.

I am not here and you are not reading this. We most certainly are not using stray wifi here, on our holiday, when we should be getting away from this intarweb rubbish. Perish forbid.

My job description reads "Dad." I drive the minivan for eight hours and get lost just before Scarborough. The Co-op has nappies and whisky in the same aisle.

Me: "O noez! We are on the road to Hull! Straight to Hull, boys, go straight to Hull!"
mirrorshard: "At least we meant well."

We're here for the full two weeks. My schedule goes "first and last few days with family, bit in the middle down the pub." I have taken stupendous numbers of photos already and met luvverly people. One laptop has died (not the Powerbook, another one) and I need to recover a pile of Freda AVIs — I can extract the disk easily, does anyone in Whitby have something to hand that can read a 2.5" hard disk?