Today’s pic.

I didn’t take many pictures of Bogle, but I’m sure at least one will make an appearance here next week.

I’m thinking about putting more graphics on the front page, it is a bit…. sparse isn’t it?

In the meantime, another little bit of The Eliza Effect-


George sat across the desk from Sharon Walker, hoping the sweat wasn�t soaking through his shirt�s armpits. She looked at the diagram, not really understanding it, but looking like it impressed her. Then she read George�s overview, which said less than the technical description, but managed to do it with far longer words. George tipped his coffee cup, to glance down into it surreptitiously. There was a large drop of black liquid in the bottom.

The silence had lasted too long. �Of course,� George offered, �when they came to me they only had half an idea. I gave them some input and told them to go ahead with it.�


George flicked through the forms on the screen. Mike and Paul were trying psychic suggestion to get him to hurry up. Finally, he delivered his opinion, �Fewer of those silly icons you keep using, okay. And I don�t want this interfering with your real work.� He closed the database and went back to the Sheffield United web-site to show he was finished with them.


Walker glanced up at George, just enough acknowledgement to encourage further comments. �And then, when people started to show an interest, I just let them sell it.�


Paul had taken point, hovering around George�s desk to intercept him the moment he came through the door. Out in the open-plan, Mike and a tall, grey haired man were watching a monitor over the head of one of the more photogenic users. All that was needed was another five minutes or so.

The door opened. George. He straightened, checked his posture, wiped his tie flat and strode across the room as carefully as possible. Thursdays were his liquid lunch day with the boys from marketing. He was desperately trying to schmooze his way into a position with them. Paul checked the open plan. The grey head was bobbing, the back was stiffening. Any moment now he would ask a question.

�Who�s that with Mike?� Paul shrugged, but George provided his own answer, �Shit, that�s Bill Walsh.�


George was dumbfounded for a moment. �He�s the head of sales!�

�Oh. I hope Mike doesn�t say anything embarrassing then.�

�He�.. What�s he doing?�

�We thought he might be interested in the stock control system.�

�He�s not meant to see�.. I was going to show him that.� George adjusted his tie again, shrugged his jacket into a sharper position and strode into the open plan.

�I bet you were.� Paul headed back to the office.


Walker laid down the paper, then slid it toward the pile she had been accumulating all day. �You put all this effort into the project, and yet, I see you applied for a job with Marketing.�

�I�. Erm, well�. You�ve got to keep your options open. You know.�

�Oh yes, yes, I know. You�re a very ambitious person. That�s to be applauded. Which direction would you really like to take?�

�Well. It�s. You know.� George had pinned the end of his tie to the desk with a finger and was gently stroking it with his thumb.

�I know some people in Marketing. I could put in a good word for you.�

�Umm�.. Thanks.�

Walker smiled at George. �I�ll get back to you about this.�