Diary of an up and coming sociopath

So anyway, as you may have guessed from the previous bout of irreverance, I’m back on this sceptered isle. I’ve got much to say about all the stuff I did in Tenerife, but I’m not entirely sure how much of it would be prudent to leave in a publically accessible place. I kept a paper journal in absence of a blog so I might just transcribe that on my livejournal, so if you want to see if you’ll have to get yourself a livejournal account and add me as a friend (channelzero) and you should get to see the stuff appear over the next day or two when I get around to writing it all up. Suffice to say it was everything I expected it’d be, except the food which was awful by anyone’s standards, let alone mine.

Some things don’t really pertain to the conference itself, and thus are exempt from discretion. Things such as…

Flying: I haven’t done it for many years, and I didn’t really remember it from then. This time I was in a perfect position to watch it all go on, and excuse me if I’m being filled with child-like wonder at the prospect, but it was astonishingly cool. During take off I was looking out the window and when we left the ground I had a strange sense of vertigo and mild panic because the impression I got was that we were falling up. A strange sensation indeed. I discovered that clouds look way better from above than below, and that at night when you look down over the sea, it looks like the sky has inverted because the clouds are black and the sea is silver. Then, when you get over land, it’s black again and covered in tiny stars, which are in fact small houses and cities. Coming in to land from the south I was able to identify a few coastal cities as well as some of the area around Gatwick.

Playa De Las Americas: AVOID. At all costs. This place is a real shithole. I’m sure to be repeating myself later in the transcriptions, but this resort is just the most desolate place I have ever visited. It is utterly devoid of culture and taste. There exists no tree, nor rock, nor overpriced counterfeit electronics shop that has not been placed specifically to extract money from gullible morons. It’s an utter sludge of conflicting architectural styles. One cannot say, having visted this anal breach of a location, that they have visited another country. It’s no more spain than it is Britain; it’s a glimpse of what life would be like if it consisted solely of tourism. I could wax prosaic for hours about what a pointless place it is, but I’ll spare you any more.

I’ve probably got more material than that but I’m still not thinking very straight. I’ve got work later today and sleep is sounding like a good idea. At some point I’ll grab what little pictures I took off my phone, that you might all experience the culture shock of yellow postboxes yourselves.